


A Rainbow with Gold at Both Ends

by gemjam, ShebaRen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Kink, Pillow & Blanket Forts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 00:57:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19284808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShebaRen/pseuds/ShebaRen
Summary: Stiles findsLittle Spacealmost by accident. It’s a side of the dynamic that has never really occurred to him before, but he feels more intrigued than disheartened like every other group he’s been in. It’s not an instant click, but he keeps coming back, reading people’s experiences and advice, and yeah, this is it. This is what he wants. A Daddy.





	A Rainbow with Gold at Both Ends

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to Steter Reverse Bang. Huge thanks to my artist ShebaRen who inspired me with their beautiful art and talked through story ideas and plot points with me and held my hand and read my progress and was so patient and understanding and kind while I worked through this process. Art at the beginning of the fic is all their hard work and fleshed out this fic so much better than my words ever could. Thank you, it's been a pleasure.

_Dare to love yourself as if you were a rainbow with gold at both ends_

_Aberjhani_

Stiles’ mom died when he was nine and his childhood pretty much ended there. Or maybe before that, maybe when he was eight and sat by her bedside, watching her slip away. She couldn’t look after him anymore. It was his job to look after her. His dad was working long hours to pay for the medical bills and his mom barely seemed to realise he existed half the time. There were no hugs for him, no comfort. He had to be a big boy about it.

After she died, it seemed his next duty was to look after his dad. Stiles never begrudged his father his grief. Stiles grieved too, but his grief turned more productive, more protective. He took care of his father. He took care of their house. When his dad came out of the other side of his grief he picked up the slack from Stiles, but they were still a team. They needed each other to make this work. It wasn’t such a burden anymore, but it wasn’t something he could put down either.

It’s not until he goes away to college and only has himself to worry about that he realises just how together he really is. He watches the people around him adjusting to college life, trying to balance everything, not used to the responsibilities of taking care of themselves. They’re used to parents making sure they get fed, that their clothes get washed, that they write their assignments and get enough sleep. For Stiles, it’s the opposite. He can’t remember the last time he only had himself to worry about. Living away from home is like having a weight lifted, even if he feels guilty about it.

He misses his dad, misses his friends, but his confidence soars. He feels like he’s coming into his own, like he’s strong and capable. He’s heard the saying _what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger_ a million times, but he never realised he didn’t have to come out of it battle scarred. The strength isn’t supposed to come from stubborn determination and gritted teeth. It’s about growth. It’s about seeing how far he’s come, what a huge head start it’s given him in this next phase of his life, and letting himself be proud.

He still micromanages his dad’s diet from afar and makes sure he’s not working too hard. He has his spies back in Beacon Hills. He feels good about the fact that his dad doesn’t have to worry about him in return though, that he doesn’t need babysitting like Stiles’ roommate clearly does. He’s already had to beg his parents for money twice because he can’t budget to save his life and he’s slept through more than a couple of lectures due to his non-existent time management skills. Stiles can’t remember the last time he was the most well-adjusted person in any room he walked into.

There’s certain areas that he doesn’t exceed in though. Sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with his spare time now that he only has himself to think about. He starts to adjust to the possibility that a relationship is something he can have. Frivolous make out sessions. Staying out late. Spending the night somewhere that’s not his own bed and not having to worry about getting back home to his responsibilities. It’s just him and his textbooks now and they’ll wait right where he left them, safe and sound, until he’s ready to pick them up again.

Stiles doesn’t really know what he wants from a relationship though, something that he always had an excuse not to dwell on before. He wants all the usual things, sex and blowjobs and grinding in clubs, consumed by another person and your own instincts. It’s not all he wants though. It’s maybe not even what he wants the most.

It dawns on him as his first semester draws to a close that he hasn’t really had physical contact with anyone since he’s gotten here, nothing more meaningful than handshakes and shoulder slaps, and the realisation makes sense of the loneliness he feels even when he’s surrounded by new friends. Stiles is a tactile person. He truly believes that hugs save lives. He realises what he really wants is to be held, to be looked after, to be cherished.

The thought makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to be weak and vulnerable. He hasn’t had to rely on anyone else for a long time and he hates the thought of giving up his independence. Before he had no choice but to be self-reliant and responsible though. That fact made him able to do this on his own, but he realises he doesn’t have to. Being so capable could build a wall around him. Choosing to give up control is the bigger position of power.

It’s a thought that stays with him over winter break, circling around his mind so often that it’s all he wants to talk about when people ask him how college is going. He wouldn’t know where to start though. He doesn’t understand it himself yet. Instead he talks about the classes he’s taking and the friends he’s made and all the things that fulfil him. It’s a long list and he feels good about that.

By the time he gets back to college in the New Year, his longing is starting to take a more specific form. Submission. It’s an action, it speaks of decisiveness to Stiles. He wants the opportunity to switch off that part of himself that’s always had to be on. He’s feels like he’s in a position where it’s safe for him to let someone else lead. The world won’t fall down around him. He’s not the only one holding it up anymore.

He joins a few sites with message boards and discussions but nothing really clicks with him. He doesn’t want bondage and he doesn’t want pain and he doesn’t want to kneel. He doesn’t want to be treated like a slut, like an object, like property. He wants to be precious.

He knows that there’s so much depth and subtlety to this, he learns more and more about it every day, spending time on these sites when he should be working on assignments and sleeping. It’s an itch he can’t work out how to scratch though. He sees the many sides of D/s dynamics, and how they range from affectionate to unforgiving, but he doesn’t see anything that works for him. He’s starting to think maybe he never will.

He finds _Little Space_ almost by accident. It’s a side of the dynamic that has never really occurred to him before, but he feels more intrigued than disheartened like every other group he’s been in. It’s not an instant click, but he keeps coming back, reading people’s experiences and advice, and yeah, this is it. This is what he wants. A Daddy.

He joins the group as a member, feeling a little thrill of belonging, even if he’s too chicken to actually join in with any of the discussions. The next morning, when he checks in on the website out of habit more than anything else, he sees a little red 1 on his messages. He’s never gotten a DM before. Is somebody propositioning him already? He doesn’t know how he feels about that when he’s still figuring out the details for himself. He clicks on the message.

_Subject: Welcome!_

_Hey, my name’s Erica, I’m one of the mods at Little Space. I’m really happy you decided to join us. Let me know if you have any questions and get involved with the community discussions. Everyone’s really friendly. I’ve been with my Daddy for 3 years now and I’m pretty involved in the RL scene so I’m always happy to chat with new people, experienced or dipping their toe in for the first time. Hit me up whenever._

_E_  
_x_

The message makes Stiles feel warm in a nice kind of way. Acceptance. Erica seems nice. He has no idea what to say to her though. He feels suddenly out of his depth, like this whole thing is real now and he’s irrevocably signed his sense of self away. He closes his laptop. He has a class to get to, he can have an existential crisis later.

The thoughts don’t leave his mind all day though, swinging between nervous anxiety of what he could have gotten himself into and a gooey anticipation of finding something that might make him feel whole. When he gets back to his dorm, he eyes his laptop, forcing himself to do his reading assignment first. Once he gets on that site, he has a feeling the rest of his evening is going to be spent rapt in possibilities and nothing else will get a look in.

When he does get on his laptop, he makes it an event. He puts on his comfiest, most sentimental superhero pyjamas and he snuggles with his blanket and he immerses himself in _Little Space._

He wants to be cuddled, wants to sit on someone’s lap and feel small. He wants to be pampered and spoiled, but he wants boundaries too. Boundaries mean you care. He wants to indulge his playful side, wants to have someone find it charming rather than immature. He wants to follow his senses, his tactile nature, wants to have soft things and chew on the end of felt tips while he colours and get messy exploring because curiosity is a wonderful trait and he’s not quite done with his sense of wonder yet. There are still so many things to discover. Stiles wants to do that with joy and encouragement and knowing that somebody is there to help clean him up afterwards.

There’s certain things he doesn’t want; diapers and spankings and anything sexual. That’s not what this is to him. He wants intimacy, wants deep affection and trust, but this isn’t about sex for him. He feels like that would taint it.

The group is easy to navigate though and he’s more than happy to just click the back button if he sees something he’s not into. He’s not here to kinkshame anyone. He’s just so happy that a place like this exists.

As he feels his eyes closing with exhaustion, his roommate already asleep in his bed, Stiles finds himself navigating back to his messages, the lone DM from Erica. He hits reply, even if he doesn’t feel any closer to having something to say. It feels like the right thing to do and he doesn’t want to turn kindness away right now.

_Hi Erica_

_Thanks for the welcome. I love the group you’re running here. I’m definitely in the ‘dipping my toe in’ category, I’m still figuring things out, so I’m not sure I have a lot to offer to the discussion, but I’m really glad I found this place. It’s great to see people who think the way I think._

_Stiles_

It feels lame and lacklustre, but it’s something. He presses send and then shuts down his laptop, hugging his pillow as he falls asleep.

There’s a message from Erica in the morning.

_Don’t be shy, jump right in! Everyone’s valid here. We’re kind of like a family. Like troublesome cousins at a family gathering who sneak out of view and you’re worried about why they’ve gone quiet ;)_

_I’m glad you’ve found something you can relate to though. I remember when I first found the community. I legit cried. It’s nice to know you’re not alone, right?_

_E_  
_x_

Stiles smiles and he feels like maybe he could cry too. But this is someone who’s already been on this journey that he’s just setting foot on and he’s a little bit intimidated by that, despite her kindness and easy familiarity. She has a Daddy. She has it all figured out. He feels like an imposter next to her.

Over the next couple of weeks, Stiles gets gradually more involved in _Little Space_ , and through the members he finds other groups, like ones where you can meet Daddies. Stiles reads profiles and daydreams and procrastinates and starts talking to people in mixed spaces, where Mommies and Daddies and Littles can all talk together.

He gets a few DMs, but none of them feel right to him. He doesn’t like the demanding tone that they open conversations with. He has no problem with someone else being in charge, he’s not fighting against that part of himself, but they have to earn it first. He’s going to need to build up some trust before he can enter into that kind of relationship with somebody.

Then he meets Josh. They start chatting in an open discussion but then Josh DMs him and it instantly feels different from all the other guys. Josh is a graduate student in Florida who likes to take care of people, likes to handle responsibilities, likes the thought of someone looking up to him. Like Stiles, he’s new to all this, and that gives Stiles a little more confidence. Maybe they can figure this out together.

They decide to do a video chat and while Stiles’ roommate is out for the night with his friends, Stiles locks the door and connects up with Josh. He’s younger than Stiles expected. Stiles knew he was in college, but somehow in his head he was more mature. There’s probably only five years between them. Stiles feels let down, and that gut reaction tells him a little something about himself.

“Hey, baby,” Josh greets.

Stiles puts on a smile, but the words don’t sound quite right in that youthful tone. When Stiles read them in their chats, they took him to a different place than they are right now.

“Hey,” Stiles responds, hoping he can play his reluctance off as coquettishness.

“It’s great to see that pretty face,” Josh says.

Stiles nods, trying to get into it. Maybe it’s not quite how he pictured it, but he wants to give it a shot.

They chat for a while and Stiles tries to get into that Little headspace, talks from the side of himself that he wants indulging. He talks about superheroes and shows off his pyjamas and chats about which special powers would be the coolest. Josh doesn’t really go with it. Josh just seems like… a grad student from Florida. He throws a few words in, Daddy, baby, but there’s no presence behind any of it and no affection towards Stiles’ Little side. It all just feels a bit flat.

Stiles stretches, yawning big. “I’m sleepy.”

“I’ll let you go,” Josh says, sitting up straighter and leaning towards the computer like he’s ready to switch it off this second.

Stiles doesn’t want to be let go. Stiles wants to be put to bed, to snuggle under his blankets, to maybe be read a story. He wants to be told to have sweet dreams and to text Daddy in the morning to tell him about them. He doesn’t fight it though. If Josh can’t come up with that on his own, maybe this match isn’t the right thing for either of them.

They video chat a couple more times, Stiles thinking maybe Josh just needs time to warm up to the role, but while he’s okay company and a decent guy, he never makes Stiles feel safe, not in that intrinsic way he needs. Stiles never really gets to let his guard down because he feels like he has to lead and that’s all he’s ever done in his life. He’s looking for someone who can take that role for him. It’s obvious Josh is not that guy.

He dips back into the groups he’s become so familiar with, but it’s hard to get invested in it when he knows that their words can’t guarantee any kind of reality. He wants the real thing.

He starts researching local clubs and theme nights, trying to find the scene. He wants to meet someone and know what he’s getting from the opening line. He wants to know that their game is as good as their talk.

He barely goes back on the website, but when he does he finds a message from Erica. They haven’t messaged since her welcome, but they’ve been interacting in _Little Space._ She leads some great discussions.

_Subject: Checking in_

_Hey Stiles_

_I haven’t seen you around much lately, just wanted to make sure everything’s alright. Maybe you’ve just found your Daddy and you don’t have much time for us anymore ;) I’m always here though if you ever want to chat about anything. I’m literally always here. Touch base some time and let me know how you’re doing._

_E_  
_x_

She’s so kind and sweet and Stiles feels simultaneously touched and guilty. He should be welcoming this new friendship, this opportunity, but her over-eagerness to help him can come off as condescending and Stiles hates being condescended, even if he does maybe sometimes kind of want to be a baby.

_Thanks. I’m doing okay. Just not sure this online stuff is for me, I need something a little more immediate. Maybe when I get a little deeper into this I’ll feel like I have more to contribute. I appreciate you reaching out. Keep being awesome._

_Stiles_

He stays on the site for a while, more out of habit than anything, scrolling through topics and longing for what they have. This place used to make him feel accepted. Now he feels like it’s just highlighting what he’s lacking.

Erica messages him back and he almost doesn’t want to open it. She can see he’s online though, he can’t pretend he’s not there to see the little red number 1 on his messages. He clicks, already dreading it and hating himself for it.

_Hey, if you’re looking into RL stuff maybe I can help. Where are you based? You said you’re in California, right? I’m North of LA and I’m pretty involved in the whole scene around here so totally hit me up for recs. I’m sure I can put you in touch with someone if you’re not local to me. You should make sure you don’t go into this blind and stay safe. The scene can be hard to navigate if you’re on your own, especially for a first timer. I can set you up and talk you through it._

_E_  
_x_

Stiles puts his irritation at her ironically mothering him on the backseat for the moment, his mind zeroing in on her location. North of LA. He’s in Riverdale, an hour outside LA. Depending on where she is, he might be even closer to her than that. What if she’s at whatever club he chooses? He’s already intimidated enough walking into those places. He doesn’t want to have the competition of her and her friends, even though he knows that he’s irrational and she’s taken and any Daddy that would consider Stiles to be his type probably wouldn’t be interested in those girls anyway. He still doesn’t want to highlight just how inexperienced he is by putting himself next to them.

_I’m good, thanks. I’ve got it under control. I’ll definitely keep you in mind though._

Her response comes through quickly.

_OK. Stay safe and know we’re always here if you need us. If you go alone, make sure someone knows where you are. Dating can be a nightmare, but looking for stuff like this can be even scarier, trust me. Take care of yourself._

_E_  
_x_

Stiles instantly feels like an asshole. She’s just a person who cares, who thinks of him as part of this little community she’s in. He just kind of wants to figure this out for himself before he lets someone else influence it. Maybe it’s a remnant of always having to be on top of everything, of not quite daring to lean on the people around him.

He knows that she has a point though, so before he goes to a club he enables GPS sharing with Lydia and she gives him a passcode to respond to texts with so that she knows he’s okay. It’s nice to know that they’d at least have a chance of finding his body if he gets murdered.

After speaking with Erica, he relocates his search to South of LA, finding somewhere that he finally feels comfortable trying out. The reviews are good and it doesn’t look seedy. He packs away his nervousness and drives himself out there one Friday night. If he wants in on this world, he’s going to have to make the jump.

That’s where he meets Alex. He’s at least ten years older than Stiles and he has an easy authority about him that makes Stiles want to melt. They talk all night, starting with flirting and ending with serious talk about what they’re looking for. This guy has what Stiles is craving, he can tell already. They end the night on a hug and a promise to meet again. When Alex kisses his cheek, Stiles feels a little flutter in his belly at the tenderness. It makes him want to be so good for his Daddy.

He sends Lydia the address before he goes around to Alex’s apartment. He wears sweatpants and an old worn T-shirt, because this isn’t the kind of date where dressing up is required. He wants to be comfortable. He wants to wear clothes that are geared towards play and naps rather than impressing. He knows it’s what Alex is expecting of him so he offers nothing but a happy smile when he opens the door.

Alex has some boardgames and puzzles out on the coffee table in the living room. It fills Stiles with giddiness and he embraces it. This is for him. He’s allowed this. He sits down on the rug, considering the boxes before he settles on a jigsaw of a colourful safari scene, placing everything else aside. Maybe he can play a game with Alex later, but he kind of wants to focus on a solo task to get into the mindset first.

“Are you thirsty?” Alex asks.

Stiles looks up at him. “Juice?”

“Coming right up,” Alex tells him with a smile.

Stiles opens up the box and starts searching through for the edge pieces. He’s engrossed in the task when Alex comes back in with his drink. He places it down beside Stiles in a plastic tumbler. Stiles looks at it and it instantly makes him feel small and safe and allowed to make mistakes. He grabs it with both hands as though his coordination demands it, taking a sip of the sweet liquid.

“What do you say?” Alex prompts.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Stiles says shyly. It feels good.

He focuses on his puzzle, letting himself get lost in it. He tries on a mindset of exploration, as though the task is more challenging than it is, becoming less meticulous as he goes along, picking pieces at random from the box and trying to find where they go. It stretches out the activity, takes him deeper into that headspace, and he can feel his whole posture changing, the tension easing, his legs becoming a tangle beneath him as he concentrates on his puzzle.

When he’s nearly done, Alex comes to sit down beside him, leaning in close so that their bodies brush together. “You’re doing a good job there, baby.”

When he uses that name, Stiles feels it. It comes from a powerful, protective place.

Alex shifts closer, brushing his fingertips over the back of Stiles’ neck as he cranes over his puzzle. Stiles shivers and squirms.

“That tickles,” he complains.

“Oh yeah?” Alex teases, doing it again. “Do you like being tickled?”

Stiles twists his mouth, crinkling his nose in thought. He shakes his head.

Alex drops his hand but he moves closer, pressing himself against Stiles’ back, leaning over to take a look at what he’s doing. Stiles leans against him, continuing with his puzzle. He likes the shared warmth. He likes his Daddy being close.

After a few moments, Alex snakes a hand around him, landing high up on his thigh and giving a squeeze. It makes Stiles tense up and he feels his adult brain kick in. He doesn’t want that. He thinks about how to tactfully get out of it, but kids aren’t tactful and he embraces that, pushing Alex’s hand away. Alex wraps his arm around Stiles’ waist instead, leaning his chin on Stiles’ shoulder as he watches him slot the last few pieces into place.

Stiles wants to be excited and proud, he wants to wiggle and bounce and celebrate, but Alex is still holding him and he feels self-conscious.

“You’re such a clever boy,” Alex praises, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “Do you want to come and sit on Daddy’s lap for a cuddle?”

There’s something in his tone that sounds suggestive to Stiles and he finds himself squirming out of Alex’s grasp and moving away before he’s even makes the choice to do so. “I told you I wasn’t into sex stuff when I was Little.”

Alex frowns at him. “What was sexual?”

Stiles doubts himself. A squeeze of the thigh is only sexual through association. And he said he _wanted_ to sit on Alex’s knee, wanted to be cuddled and coddled. Maybe he’s reading this all wrong. Maybe he just didn’t surrender to it fully enough.

“Sorry,” he says. “I kind of broke the spell for myself. I think I might just go.”

“We could play a game,” Alex suggests. “Or watch some cartoons?”

Stiles smiles gratefully, but his Little self is gone now. “I just feel like I need to pick this up another time.”

“Okay,” Alex agrees, getting to his feet. “Get in touch whenever you feel up to it. I’d love to see you again.”

Stiles nods eagerly. “Me too. Totally. I just need to sort through some stuff in my head, I think. I’m still figuring out what works for me.”

“I am very open to exploring that with you,” Alex says.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, feeling himself soften. He’s going to learn how to switch off this brain if it kills him.

The next time they meet up, Stiles tells himself to go into it with an open mind. He does a puzzle, they play a game together, and then he sits in Alex’s lap to watch cartoons. It’s comfy and he feels himself slipping into such a warm, fuzzy place, but then Alex’s hands start to roam, always managing to find flesh to run his fingertips over, hand slipping beneath the hem of Stiles’ shirt no matter which way he shifts and squirms. He tells himself he’s seeing through his adult eyes but he can’t help it. It feels so leading and it’s not what Stiles is here for.

He meets up with Alex one more time, wanting so desperately for it to work because he could be a really great Daddy. He is. He brings out that Little side of Stiles and indulges it, but Stiles can never truly let his guard down. He doesn’t feel entirely safe being vulnerable here. When Alex kisses him on the mouth, he knows it isn’t going to work out.

Stiles returns to the website and _Little Space_ , seeing some discussions led by Erica, so kind and generous with her time in helping others to explore themselves, and he wonders why he’s been such a stubborn idiot to insist on doing this on his own. Old habits die hard he supposes. When you can’t rely on anyone but yourself, you get pretty good at it. This isn’t something he needs to grit his teeth and get through though. He wants to enjoy the journey for once.

He opens up his messages with Erica. This girl could be his Yoda if he’d let her.

_Where are all the good Daddies at?_

Erica’s online but she doesn’t respond right away. Stiles clicks back over to _Little Space_ and starts to read through the latest discussions, getting involved and embracing this community he’s found afresh. He’s so grateful that he has a place to go where this makes sense to people, even if it doesn’t entirely make sense to him yet.

The little message icon lights up with a 1 in the corner and feels excited as he clicks on it.

_Hey you_

_I take it your quest didn’t go so well? ;)_

_Either way, I’m glad to see you back. And if that’s a genuine question, I’m all about connections in this community. I can give you some tips or just commiserate that good Daddies are hard to find. My Daddy makes sure I know how lucky I am every day._

_E_  
_x_

Stiles stands up from his desk, taking his laptop over to the bed and settling in.

_I’m actually in Riverside so I’m not too far from you. I was hoping maybe you could give me some advice about where I could be looking? You said you know the RL scene around here pretty well, right?_

He chews on his thumb as he waits for a response, staring at his inbox and hoping he’s not being too presumptuous after basically ghosting her. He _is_ being too presumptuous, but he has a feeling she’s kind enough to overlook it.

_Oh, we’re really close! That’s awesome! I love IRL Little friends. Tell me everything you’re looking for in a Daddy, I can hook you up :D_

They talk back and forth far too late into the night, but it’s the most fun Stiles has had in a long time, and the closest to home he’s felt since he left Beacon Hills.

She convinces him to join her at a munch the following week, assuring him that it’s totally casual, just likeminded people, nothing kinky goes on but it’s a great way to connect with others in the scene. Stiles is equal parts anxious and thrilled to be going. He wants to meet Erica, wants to truly embrace this side of himself. He feels like he’s taken all the wrong paths and he’s ready to suck it up and admit that maybe he needs a little guidance. He just hopes he doesn’t make a total idiot of himself. And maybe he’s a little worried about it going right too. He’s dipped his toe, called people _Daddy_ and meant it, but he knows he hasn’t surrendered yet, not completely, not like he wants to. He’s still a little apprehensive of whether it will be as fulfilling as he’s built it up to be.

The munch is held in the private function room of a bar, but it’s not booze soaked or seedy. He questions whether he’s even walked into the right room, everyone here looks so normal, there’s no indications as to what they have in common. He thinks about backing out and texting Erica to double check the address when he hears his name.

“Stiles?”

He looks up to see a blond girl with curls and big eyes. She’s wearing on oversized shirt that slips off one of her shoulders, revealing colourful straps beneath. There’s a cartoon baby leopard on the front.

“Uh, yeah?” he responds.

She grins at him, showing her teeth with no hint of inhibitions. “I’m Erica!”

“Oh,” he says, feeling a rush of camaraderie. “It’s great to meet you.”

“You too,” Erica enthuses. “I’m so glad you could come. Can I introduce you to everyone? Let’s start with my Daddy.”

Stiles doesn’t resist as she clings to his arm and drags him off. He likes her energy, so enthusiastic and carefree. He wants that for himself. He wants to let go of all the things that can dampen his mood.

Erica’s Daddy is called Boyd, a solid, stoic man who still manages to show such kindness to Erica. She’s clearly besotted and he would clearly do anything for her. _Hashtag goals._

After they share a drink and get to know each other a little better, Erica drags him out of the comfort zone he’s only just found and starts introducing him to people. It’s obvious they’re handpicked with him in mind. After they move away from each person, Erica tells Stiles about every box that specific Daddy would tick for him. It’s a dizzying experience and Stiles isn’t sure how much he takes on board, but he likes the opportunity to meet these people and even more than that, he likes being Erica’s friend.

“Where is Peter?” Erica wonders aloud, a note of frustration in her voice as she looks around the room. “He promised he was going to be here.”

“He’s a Daddy?” Stiles asks.

“He ticks every box,” Erica tells him. “But he’s running fashionably late. He better not bail.”

Peter doesn’t sound very reliable, and reliable is a non-negotiable in his Daddy. Stiles doesn’t like him already. He looks around the room, eyes lingering on every Daddy he’s met. None of them have really stood out, but he thinks he’s probably just overwhelmed. He should take some space to figure things out before he commits to anything.

He has another drink with Erica and Boyd, enjoying their company and soaking up the atmosphere. It turns out Erica graduated from UCLA last year, Boyd the year before that. It feels weird to Stiles to have a Daddy who’s only a year older than you. That wouldn’t work for him. For Erica and Boyd it seems like more of a state of mind though. Stiles doesn’t doubt the strength of their dynamic.

Erica is a freelance writer for a few kink related sites, which explains why she’s such an authority on the scene and has so many connections. She might be a Little, and lean into the role for more than just play sessions, but Stiles can tell that she’s respected.

“Yesss,” Erica hisses, eyes lighting up before she’s crossing the room.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asks Boyd.

“Peter’s here,” Boyd responds, giving him a look that tells him kindly that he might want to brace himself.

Erica drags Peter over in the same way she pulled Stiles around all night, enthusiastically and with no apologies. “Stiles, this is Peter. Peter, Stiles.” She looks at them expectantly.

“Hi,” Stiles says awkwardly. Peter’s the right age and he has a certain presence, but mostly Stiles just feels trapped against the wall that suddenly feels too close to him.

“It’s a pleasure,” Peter says smoothly, extending his hand.

The guys drips charm and sex appeal. Stiles shifts on his feet. Peter would be what he was looking for if he wanted a fuck. Stiles isn’t so sure that he’s Daddy material though. He can’t see where Erica’s coming from at all.

He shakes Peter’s hand, even as he instinctively shies away. Peter feels intimidating in some way. Maybe it’s just his confidence, but he doesn’t feel nurturing like Stiles craves. He wants someone to take care of him, not impress him. He’s not convinced Peter has that in him.

Peter chats with Erica and Boyd, slipping into the conversion effortlessly. They’re clearly old friends. That makes Stiles want to trust Erica’s judgement, but he can’t get away from Peter’s undeniable sexuality. The guy is hot, and there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with that in a Daddy, but it’s not where Stiles wants his focus to be. Peter would probably cross that line like Alex did. He doesn’t look like he’d be able to help it.

But Peter is personable and warm and, Stiles gets the impression, important. He talks about _business_ and Stiles can tell he’s in the boardroom rather than a cubicle. He’s impressive without even having to flaunt his achievements. Stiles just doesn’t feel like he knows what to do with that. He doesn’t have his shit together and maybe someone like Peter would just find him lacking.

“Can I get you a drink?” Peter offers.

Stiles blinks, clearing his eyes. “I’m good,” he says, holding up the remnants of his drink. “I’m probably going to go after I finish this.”

Peter nods, looking like the dismissal rolls right off his back. Stiles bets he gets what he wants and doesn’t have to chase tongue-tied, ungraceful things like him. They really wouldn’t make a good match.

“Erica? Boyd?” Peter asks.

Erica smiles sweetly, holding out her now empty glass.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Boyd says, the two of them heading over to the bar.

“So?” Erica prompts, wide eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Peter?” Stiles asks.

“Yes, Peter,” she says, giving him an eyeroll.

“I don’t think he’s what I’m looking for,” Stiles says apologetically because Erica, for some reason, seems really sold on this.

“Why not?” Erica asks, frowning slightly.

“I don’t know, I just… don’t feel it,” Stiles shrugs helplessly. Not that he felt it with anyone else this evening either. Peter definitely elicited the strongest reaction from him, even if he’s not sure it was a good one.

Erica pouts with thoughtfulness. She looks up at Stiles. “Hey, do you know what would be really cool? If you came over for a playdate! Come to mine and Boyd’s apartment, we have a whole playroom, you’d really love it and I love to share. Playing with other Littles is so much fun.”

Stiles considers her for a moment. “And Peter would be there?”

“Not if you don’t want,” Erica says. “My Daddy can supervise us both, and it will just be playtime. But I think you’d see a different side to Peter. And if you didn’t want, you wouldn’t even have to talk to him. I’ll make sure he knows the score. He knows Daddy status has to be earned. He respects that. Maybe more than anyone I’ve met.”

Stiles trusts Erica. She knows this world and she knows Peter and he’s certain she wouldn’t lead him astray. And he’d really like to see Erica’s playroom. He’d really like to be Little with her.

“Okay.”

Erica bounces in her seat, making a noise like a dying mouse. “This is going to be so great! I’ll set everything up and send you the address and you just have to turn up. Just explore it, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Stiles nods his head. He knows she means being Little as much as getting to know Peter. He feels safe with her already though. With Erica and Boyd, maybe he can finally let go of that last piece of resistance, even with Peter there.

They agree to meet up the following weekend and Erica gives him the address before he leaves the bar. He wonders if maybe he should stay, get to know Peter a little better, but he’d rather be Little with him. He’d rather present the part of himself that he’s willing to give away. That’s not all of him.

When the day comes, Stiles dresses in sweatpants and a comfy, colourful T-shirt, an outfit that feels dedicated to his Little self now. He likes that something so simple can get him into the mindset. It gives him that soft, vulnerable feeling, like he needs someone to protect him.

Boyd opens the door, but Erica’s not far behind him, skidding along the wooden floor in her socked feet. She’s wearing a T-shirt dress with dinosaurs all over it, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail that still lets curls spill over her face.

“Stiles!” she squeals.

“Come in,” Boyd says, opening the door wider.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, but his attention is on Erica and her energy and how much he wants to play with her. “I like your dress.”

“Thank you,” Erica says, clasping at the hem as she looks down at it. “Unicorns are my favourites but dinosaurs are cool too. If we watch Jurassic Park, Daddy has to protect me though because those ones are scary.”

Stiles nods. “I prefer cartoons.”

“Do you like Powerpuff Girls?” She turns to Boyd. “Daddy, can we watch some TV?”

“Maybe after dinner,” Boyd says. “If you’re good. For now, why don’t you show Stiles your playroom?”

Erica grins, taking hold of Stiles’ hand in her own. “Come see. You can play with anything you want, I’m really good at sharing.”

As they walk through the apartment, Stiles looks around, but he can’t see Peter anywhere. Maybe he’s late again. Stiles doesn’t want a Daddy he can’t count on to be there when he needs him. He was more interested in getting to play with Erica anyway. That’s what he’s been excited about all week. He doesn’t even know why the thought of Peter being absent is able to dampen that for him at all.

Erica opens up a door and Stiles looks in awe. He could only have dreamed of something this cool when he was a real kid. There’s a big rainbow rug in the middle of the floor, a doll’s house, a play tent, a corner full of cushions and stuffed animals, shelves with games and toys, and a kiddie pool with little plastic balls in it. Stiles doesn’t even know what he wants to play with first.

Erica shows no such hesitation, giggling as she runs across the room and leaps into the ball pool. A few spill out over the sides and Stiles just loves that sense of abandon and what it represents. He wants it for himself. There’s nothing to stop him from taking it. Not in this room.

He smiles as he moves quickly, jumping in beside her. She squeals in delight as the balls shift around them. It’s not really big enough for them both and he should feel ridiculous and oversized but it’s fun. Its fun to sink into the balls, letting them cover his legs. It’s fun to run his hands through them. It’s fun to toss them at Erica and have her make gleeful noises before she gets him in return. It’s so easy to go to that place in his head with her, the one of innocence and joy, but he knows it’s not complete without someone to protect that vulnerability like only a Daddy could. That’s when he could really let go.

They start to get tired after a while and it’s a good feeling, his body weak from laughing. They both lie back as much as they can, catching their breath, Stiles playing idly with the balls. Even when he’s Little, it’s hard to stay still. He wishes he could find that inner peace that would make it all stop. He feels like he’s on the right path.

“I was so happy when you got here,” Erica says. “Daddy and Peter were talking about boring adult things and no one was paying attention to me.”

Stiles looks up at her. “Peter’s here already?”

“He’s been here for ages,” Erica says. “He was happy when you got here too.”

Stiles feels himself blush. Peter’s here? Peter was waiting for him? Somehow that changes everything.

“Do you wanna play dolls?” Erica asks.

Stiles’ instinct is to say that he’s not interested in dolls because he’s a boy and boys shouldn’t be. He’s not supposed to be interested in anything in this room though. But he is. He really is. If he’s going to explore this, he wants to offer himself every opportunity.

“Okay.”

Erica’s dollhouse is intricate and the tiny lights in the rooms actually turn on. It’s a work of art. Playing with the dolls is hard for Stiles to get into. He has to think too much, has to make up a story and dialogue and his grown-up brain starts to kick in. He knows that this is about imagination and endless possibilities, but his mind gets held up on logic and it stops him from finding the sweet spot with his headspace.

He looks at the shelves, all the wonderful toys that Erica has. “Can we do a puzzle?”

“Sure,” Erica says, easily abandoning her dolls.

She starts pulling out boxes, spreading them around the floor, and Stiles leans forward and picks a unicorn one. They’re her favourite animal and it’s pretty. Erica pushes the other puzzles aside and tips out all the pieces onto the floor. It’s a mess and difficult to work through, but Stiles likes that. He always found safety in routine, always had to keep on top of everything, but it’s nice to have a little chaos and know that it doesn’t mean everything will fall apart around him.

They work together, piece by piece, clusters of the finished picture starting to emerge before them. Every time they make one little section connect to another, Stiles feels pride and excitement bubbling inside him.

“Hey, kids.”

“Daddy!” Erica yells, getting up and running over to Boyd, pouncing on him. He smiles at her with such affection, placing a kiss on top of her head.

Peter is beside Boyd in the doorway and Stiles eyes him warily before looking back down at his puzzle.

“We were just wondering why it had gone quiet in here,” Boyd says.

“We were concentrating,” Erica says.

“I can see that,” Boyd agrees.

“Can you help us, Daddy?”

Stiles looks back over to see Peter watching him. He’s not smouldering or overconfident like he was when they met the other night. There’s something softer and more curious about him. Stiles is intrigued. He still feels guarded though, not willing to trust it, his eyes falling back down to the puzzle.

“I think you can manage, Eri,” Boyd says. “You have Stiles to help you. Be good, we’ll come check on you in a bit.”

Erica begrudgingly agrees, demanding another kiss from her Daddy before she lets him leave. She comes to sit back with Stiles, humming happily as she works, so carefree and immersed in being Little. Stiles still feels like he’s skating just around the edges.

They finish their puzzle up together, Erica giving him the biggest grin. It makes Stiles feel like they accomplished something great. Erica turns and grabs a ball from the shelf, holding it up to him.

“This is my favourite,” she says. It’s transparent with purple glitter floating around inside it. “Watch.” She drops it on the floor and it lights up, flashing different colours. It also bounces off on a seemingly random path and she giggles and runs after it.

She throws it again, in Stiles’ direction this time, and he chases it around the room until he finally gets his hands on it, lifting it up with triumph. He throws it back towards her, watching as she scurries after it. The unpredictability of the ball makes Stiles feel small and uncoordinated. He likes that feeling. It makes the headspace feel so much more real to him when it’s physical as well as mental.

As they play, laughing and running around and getting out of breath, Boyd and Peter come back into the room. Stiles immediately feels self-conscious, eyeing Peter across the room. He can tell that Erica’s focus is lost too, showing off for her Daddy rather than caring about the game. She abandons it before too long, jumping at Boyd until he sits down in the big chair in the corner, Erica climbing into his lap.

Stiles sits down on the rainbow rug, playing with the ball by himself for a while. He bangs it on the floor to make it light up and then rolls it from one hand to the other. It’s not as fun but he’s kind of beat anyway.

His gaze keeps creeping across to Peter who perches himself on the edge of a dresser, looking perfectly at home. He’s watching Stiles but it doesn’t feel intimidating like he thought it would. Peter looks kind and interested and softer than Stiles remembers him. He’s looking at Stiles like he’s somehow remarkable. Stiles doesn’t understand that look, but he thinks he likes it.

The ball isn’t much fun by himself so he starts looking on the shelves at what else Erica has. He finds a wooden construction set, different sized pieces that can be fit together with chunky screws. He plays around with different combinations, making shapes and figuring out different ways to fit them together.

Every time he looks up at Peter, he finds himself being watched. It’s never sexual, never predatory like Stiles feared. It’s gentle and somehow encouraging. Stiles finds his movements slowing, his looks at Peter lingering. He’s kind of worn out, from the emotions as much as the boisterous play session with Erica. After a while, he lets the blocks slip from his fingers. He doesn’t want to play anymore. He doesn’t want to leave this headspace either.

He gets up, moving over to the corner where all of Erica’s stuffed animals are strewn amongst the cushions. It looks so cosy. There’s a small bookcase in that corner of the room, kid’s books stacked neatly inside. Stiles recognises some of them from when he was younger. He picks out a different one though, a new one. He doesn’t want it to have any association other than this.

He sits back on the cushions and looks across at Peter. His face is open, inviting, allowing Stiles to give himself permission to ask. Stiles’ eyes flick over to Erica and Boyd who are playing with some tactile little toy together in a world of their own. He looks back at Peter, holding the book up.

“Can you read it to me?” he asks. “Please?”

Peter smiles, relief and pride mixing together on his face. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Stiles likes that endearment. He likes the caring way in which Peter says it.

He hands the book off to Peter as he sits down beside him, settling against the cushions. He could listen to Peter’s voice all night. Even the way he reads the title gives Stiles tingles in the warmest, greatest way possible. It makes his eyes feel heavy and his walls want to crumble down.

He picks up one of the stuffed animals, a unicorn of course. It has sequins on its belly. If you rub them one way, they’re silver. If you stroke them the other way, they turn rainbow. It’s mesmerising. Stiles gently changes the colours back and forth, listening to Peter’s voice, to the simple story, and it’s easy to lean into him. It’s easy to rest his weight against Peter. It’s easy to snuggle into his warmth. It’s easy to hold the unicorn lightly while he closes his eyes and, for the first time, truly lets go.

Peter carefully wraps an arm around him as he continues to read, and then the story finishes and Peter still holds him, hand stroking up and down Stiles’ arm, lulling him into the safety of letting go of all his inhibitions.

Stiles doesn’t sleep, he’s still aware of his surroundings, but he stays there snuggled with Peter, eyes closed in happy contentment, feeling truly small and safe.

When it comes time to pull away it feels awkward so he doesn’t at first. He thinks about what he wants to happen next, about what he wants to say to Peter, because he’s never done it this way around before. Usually the talking comes first, then Little Stiles comes out, but with Peter he’s pulled away from that, avoided it. This is the most secure he’s felt as his Little self though and he wants to do it again. He wants to explore that with Peter.

He opens his eyes, pulling back as he looks up at Peter.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks, letting his arm fall away.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, giving a nod.

He still feels halfway Little, halfway like he needs someone else to take control of this, but he wants to do it for himself. Choosing is where the power comes from, so he has to choose, not just accept whatever he’s offered. He knows that would never work for him.

“Could I get your number?” he asks. “And maybe we could talk? I usually discuss things before I get to this point.”

“Absolutely,” Peter agrees. “I would never engage in anything serious without negotiation.”

Stiles feels something ease inside him. He wants to get it right this time. He feels like maybe he and Peter would be on the same page about that.

They exchange numbers and Peter leaves first, giving Stiles the opportunity to say goodbye to Erica and Boyd. Erica doesn’t preen too much at the fact that she was right. They both make it clear that Stiles is more than welcome to come over for more playdates, Erica hugging him tightly before he leaves.

Stiles spends every spare minute over the next few days thinking about Peter, about how he made Stiles feel when he was wrapped up in his arms, how gentle his voice was as he read to him, how caring and open his expression was as he watched Stiles play, like he was cute. Like he was precious.

One night he sits down with his composition notebook, flicking past his lecture notes, and he starts to write. He puts down everything he’s discovered about himself over the last few months, what he wants out of being Little, how it makes him feel. He stresses that this isn’t sexual for him, that he wants to embrace the innocence of it and anything _adult_ stops him sinking fully into the headspace, but he’s affectionate and tactile and he’d want a Daddy who could understand and respect that boundary.

He feels like he’s asking for too much, but then he reminds himself that he’s allowed to get what he wants, what he needs. He’s allowed to come first for once. Just like Peter’s allowed to turn him down. They need to put it all out on the table before either of them can make that choice though.

He noticed that when Erica was Little, Boyd exclusively called her Eri. It’s a cute pet name, but not one he heard at the bar the first time they met. He likes that, liked when Peter called him sweetheart, not quite like he’s someone else, but a different part of himself. Stiles isn’t on the table right now. But Mischief could be. He smiles to himself as he sees the name written in ink. It’s been a long time.

He puts the letter aside for the night to let the idea settle in his mind. It sits on his desk, safely nestled between the pages of his composition notebook. The next morning he reads them over and then he texts Peter.

_-This is going to sound really weird, but can I send you a letter?_

The response is quick and Stiles is glad. When something matters to Peter, it seems like he can make it a priority. Stiles hopes that he’s right.

_-I would like that. Do you want my email address?_

_-It’s a real letter._

Peter offers up his address without question and Stiles is almost tempted to go around there and drop it off himself, it’s not far, but he thinks he’d rather have the letter precede him. He wants to give Peter time to really digest it and to not feel pressured into giving a response.

He goes to the campus Post Office on his way to class and sends it off into the world. He lasts all the way until that afternoon before he tells Erica about it. She’s over the moon and only had a little bit of _I told you so_ in her voice. He reminds her that it’s very much still in the hypothetical stages, but he’s pretty excited too.

A couple of days later, he gets a text from Peter.

_-I got your letter. Can I call you?_

Stiles taps his fingers against his phone with nervous energy, looking across the room. He really wants to jump into this with Peter, it’s been going over in his mind ever since he mailed that letter, but he needs to be committed to it. He doesn’t want any distractions and there’s nowhere he can go right now to really be alone.

_-My roommate’s here. Can I call you later? I want to talk._

_-I’ll look forward to it. I enjoyed your letter, you express yourself very well._

Stiles smiles, blushing. Compliments don’t usually get him like that. From Peter, even over text, the words somehow sound sincere. It makes Stiles feel a little bit better about putting his heart on the line. His natural instinct is still to deflect with sarcasm though. Old habits die hard.

_-English composition 101 ;)_

_-A+ I’m sure._

Stiles feels giddy, chewing on the side of his thumb. His playfulness is appreciated and returned. It’s hard to focus on anything else until his roommate finally leaves to go to his study group.

Stiles takes his phone over to the bed, flopping down as he dials Peter’s number. “Hey,” he says as Peter answers.

“Thank you for calling,” Peter says. “It’s nice to hear from you.”

He’s so attentive and Stiles isn’t sure what to do with that. He squirms a little, loving it but feeling like maybe it’s a little too much. He’s not used to so much attention.

“Your letter was very clear,” Peter says. “I appreciate the time you must have taken to write it.”

“It was pretty therapeutic actually,” Stiles says.

“I can imagine,” Peter agrees. “There was nothing in there I wouldn’t be able to provide you with,” he tells Stiles. “No deal breakers. And we’re on the same page in terms of sex. It’s not something I crave when I’m being a Daddy. Physicality and affection, yes, but I think my line in the sand is fairly close to yours.”

“Cool,” Stiles responds, not sure what else to say. He can’t believe his luck and it’s kind of overwhelming. Erica can read people, he has to give her that. “So what would you want from this?”

“I like having a little boy I can pamper,” Peter says. “I don’t have a lot of nurturing outlets in my life, things can be fairly… cold. Business requires a certain amount of brutality. I don’t have much to balance that with. But I have a softer side, a side that wants to take care and give back what I sometimes feel like I take in other circumstances. You wouldn’t see that man, the one in the boardroom. He’s a necessity and I’m good at it, but I’m not a cruel person. You were honest with me and I want to be honest with you. I feel like you’d agree that people have layers, they can be many things. You would only ever get my love.”

Stiles can’t say anything at first. He’s too choked up. He absolutely understands that need to put aside who you have to be in order to indulge the parts of you that never felt safe to see the light of day.

“Can I come over to play?” Stiles asks. “Daddy?”

His heart pounds in his chest. The word was hushed but there was no mistaking it.

“Mischief, I would love that,” Peter responds.

Stiles feels like he could fly.

A couple of days later, he’s at Peter’s front door. It’s a nice house in a nice neighbourhood but nothing outlandish. It has more of a family vibe than anywhere else he’s had playdates. He likes that about it.

Peter answers the door, smiling warmly at him and inviting him inside. “Do you mind taking off your shoes?” he asks. “I don’t want dirt coming into the house if I’m having a little one playing on the floor.”

Stiles smiles, loving how Peter made his desire for a tidy house sound like it was entirely for Stiles’ benefit. Stiles has a feeling that he can be particular about things, but he likes the fact that he has different ways of getting the results he wants. Something about him being both clever and considerate makes Stiles feel incredibly safe.

He toes off his sneakers, allowing Peter to usher him into the living room. His socks lack purchase on the hardwood floors and Stiles imagines sliding along the length of the hall, a fizzy little giddy feeling bubbling up inside him. He’s not going to push his luck right away though. He wants to impress Peter like Peter is impressing him. He wants to be good.

The coffee table has been moved to the side so that the large rug in the centre of the room is clear. On it sits a couple of different puzzles, some children’s books and a bright red ball. They’re all things Peter saw him using at Erica’s place. He was paying attention. The puzzles still have their plastic wrapping on and the ball looks shiny and new, the pages of the books unbent. Peter went out and bought these especially for him.

Stiles turns to face him with the appropriate amount of adoration. It comes naturally, he couldn’t turn it off if he tried. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Something about Peter’s posture changes, softening. “What would you like to play with first, Mischief?”

Stiles surrenders entirely to his Little side, to Mischief. He doesn’t intend to be naughty, but if Peter allows it, he wants to be spirited. He wants to get all of his energy out and revel in playfulness and exploration. He wants to not have a worry in the world, none of the inhibitions that experience has brought him, even if it’s only for a couple of hours.

He runs over to the rug, grabbing the ball and bouncing it on the floor. It’s light and a little squishy, soft enough to not hurt if it rebounds into his face. He’s aware that there’s plenty of things to break in here, expensive looking things, not like Erica’s playroom which was fit for purpose, so he tries to keep the ball on the rug, even though he wants to embrace the part of himself that’s an uncoordinated goof. He likes leaning on that side of himself when he’s Little. He’s been compared to a baby gazelle more than a few times. It wasn’t a compliment then but he’s willing to own it now. There’s something so liberating about that.

He gets a little too into it though and the ball bounces away from the rug, reverberating against the hardwood floor. Peter grabs it in mid-air before it can hit anything, walking over to the rug as he considers it in his hands. Stiles is sure that he’s in trouble.

“Can I play?” Peter asks him.

Stiles blinks. Daddies have never wanted to play with him. Alex did, but he didn’t ask and it always felt like he was just indulging Stiles, like it was a means to an end. Peter looks like he genuinely wants to share the game with Stiles. He nods his head eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet in expectation. Peter sits on the rug where he is, a couch length away from Stiles, and Stiles hesitates for a moment, not sure whether to go to him or sit here across from him. In the end he just plops himself down on his bottom. He doesn’t want to think or take responsibility. If he’s done the wrong thing, his Daddy will tell him, and then he can make it better.

Peter rolls the ball towards him across the carpet and Stiles splays his legs out in front of him so he can lean forward and grab it. Even with being caught off guard, it’s a little too easy. Stiles pushes it back though, using both his hands and all his concentration to aim towards his target. It goes back and forth between them a few times, and Stiles thinks maybe Peter likes the more sedate games. It is soothing, the repetition and predictability. It lets everything in his mind switch off. It’s not quite satisfying the boisterous side of him though. Unwinding is only part of why he likes being Little. The other is expending energy.

Peter isn’t that unobservant though. Once Stiles is lulled into the back and forth rhythm, Peter picks the ball up and throws it so that it bounces once before rebounding up towards Stiles. He’s caught so off-guard that he instinctively bats the ball away before he can process that he’s supposed to catch it. Then he giggles, going after the ball on his hands and knees and retrieving it. He throws it back before he’s fully sat on his bottom again, his aim off-balance, but Peter still manages to catch it with the smallest of adjustments. He throws it back while Stiles is still laughing and he misses it again.

Stiles laughs and chases the ball and throws it back to Peter who never fails to catch it. On the few occasions when Stiles is still enough to not fumble the ball away from him, he holds it up in triumph above his head and Peter cheers with him, a huge grin on his face. He’s not playing with Stiles out of a sense of duty. He’s doing it because he wants to, because it brings him just as much joy as it does Stiles.

When he doesn’t have enough energy to run after the ball anymore, he watches it skitter away across the floor and then lies back on the rug, grinning and breathing heavy. Peter comes over to join him, sitting by his side and looking down at him fondly. Stiles had wanted to do a puzzle too, he likes puzzles and the ones Peter bought look so fun and colourful, but he’s kind of beat now. He doesn’t want anything but to cuddle his Daddy.

He sits up, grabbing the handful of books that sit beside the puzzles. “Storytime?”

“That sounds like a good idea, Mischief,” Peter agrees, taking the books from him. “Can you climb up on the couch by yourself?”

Stiles is intrigued to know what happens if he says no. Peter is strong, but strong enough to lift Stiles up and carry him around? That would be pretty amazing. The alternative is that they just stay on the floor though, and Stiles doesn’t want to risk that. Peter’s couch looks so soft and luxurious. He nods his head, moving over to do just that.

Peter sits by his side and Stiles instantly leans against him. He feels safe snuggling up to Peter, being touchy-feely with him. They both drew the same line in the sand and he trusts Peter not to cross it.

“What should we start with?” Peter asks, fanning the books out in his hands.

Stiles leans forward, chewing on his lip, as though this were a very serious decision. He doesn’t know any of these books though and he likes that. Stories can be hard to let go of and he doesn’t want to travel to lands that have already been explored. He wants his Daddy to show him new ones.

He picks one with a rabbit on the front. It looks cheeky. He likes it. He wants to know what trouble it will inevitably get into.

He snuggles down with Peter as he starts to read. His voice is so perfect, so smooth and just a little slower than necessary. Deliberate. He exudes control and Stiles wants nothing more than to let him have it. He does subtly different voices for the characters, his inflection engaging enough to bring the story to life without crossing into melodrama. It’s even better than last time. His Daddy knows how to read a good story and Stiles could listen to him all day.

The book is longer than the one they read together at Erica’s. Stiles doesn’t get bored though, he melts into Peter and looks at the pictures and occasionally points out something that he sees. Peter always seems pleased with his contributions. It’s a moment shared rather than a contrived activity to play into their roles. It feels natural.

When the book is finished, Stiles stays leaning against Peter, grateful when Peter wraps an arm around him rather than letting the moment fade. He lifts a hand up, petting Stiles’ hair. It’s such an innocent, caring touch. Stiles makes a pleased noise, melting into him.

“Do you want to have a nap, Mischief?” Peter asks him. “Or a snack maybe?”

Stiles purses his lips together in concentration because it’s a serious question. A nap sounds pretty amazing, especially if he gets to stay snuggled up with his Daddy. He had a light lunch though and he is kind of hungry. Besides, he doesn’t want to waste his time here sleeping. He’s never been good at going to bed when he should.

“Snack,” he says decisively. “Please, Daddy.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Peter says. “Let me go make something, I’ll be right back.”

Stiles doesn’t want to let go of Peter, but he’s starting to get a little restless anyway. He moves back, Peter’s arm falling away from him, the kindest smile on his face. Stiles feels like maybe he’s hit the jackpot. He tries to remind himself that it’s early days, but he’s never had such a great feeling about somebody before, Daddy or otherwise.

Peter walks through a doorway and Stiles hears the sound of cupboards opening and closing, of plates and glasses placed on counters. There’s the clunk of a knife on a chopping board over and over, making Stiles curious as to what he’s making. He looks around the room, wishing he had a stuffed animal or something to fuss with while he waits for his Daddy. He’s not very good at being patient. He looks at the ball but it’s not soft enough and he’d probably end up tossing it and breaking something. He grabs a cushion off Peter’s couch instead, hugging it to himself and worrying the detailing around the edge.

It feels like a long time before Peter returns, but he finally appears back in the doorway, a tray carried carefully in his hands. Stiles eyes it eagerly, sitting up a little straighter. Peter picks up a plastic tumbler and passes it to Stiles as he pushes the cushion carelessly away, holding out both hands. As soon as Peter releases it, Stiles brings it up to his lips, taking some big gulps of the juice and draining it halfway.

Peter picks up the last two items on the tray, a tall glass of water and a large plate stacked with something. When he comes to sit down beside Stiles, he can see that it’s full of chopped up fruit cut into the perfect size for little fingers. It looks so good and it makes Stiles sink into that Little headspace even further. He wasn’t even sure that was possible.

“Thank you, Daddy,” he says, the words going far deeper than a lovingly put together snack.

Peter smiles at him, gesturing to the plate that’s sitting in his lap. “Help yourself.”

Stiles reaches across, licking his lips as he grabs half a strawberry. It’s so sweet and delicious. Peter selects things carefully with his fingertips, chewing slowly, while Stiles uses his whole hand to grab at whatever catches his eyes, going with his instinctive desires. Even with something so simple, giving in to his impulse control is so satisfying. He gets messy, fruit juices on his hands and smeared around his tumbler where he grips it with both hands to drink.

“What’s your favourite animal?” Peter asks.

Stiles looks up at him. He doesn’t expect the question but it’s so innocent that he likes it. He squirms in his seat as he thinks. “Fox.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter asks.

Stiles nods, a piece of mango clutched in his hand. “What’s your favourite animal?”

“Hmm,” Peter considers. “I’d have to say penguins.”

Stiles laughs. It seems like such a silly answer from such a serious person. “They walk funny.”

“So would you if you were on ice all day,” Peter responds.

Stiles laughs louder, mango juice sliding down his wrist.

It turns out Peter knows a lot about penguins. Stiles thinks he probably knows a lot about everything. His Daddy is smart. Stiles is smart too, but Mischief likes to listen.

With the snack finished and Peter taking everything back through to the kitchen, Stiles looks over onto the rug, spotting the puzzles. He can’t see the pictures from here but he knows it’s what he wants to do next. He looks up at Peter as he comes back into the room.

“Will you help me do a puzzle, Daddy?” he asks.

“I’d love to,” Peter agrees. “But I think we should get you cleaned up first before we do anything else.”

Stiles gets down from the couch with a total lack of grace, letting Peter guide him to the downstairs bathroom.

“Sit down,” Peter says, nodding towards the edge of the tub.

Stiles does as he’s told, watching as Peter grabs a clean washcloth, running the tap to get it warm. He adds soap and wets the washcloth, squeezing it out before he turns to Stiles. He’s not rough when he cleans his face, wiping the soft material across his cheeks and over his lips like they might bruise. Stiles is more than capable of some rough and tumble, but being treated like he’s delicate isn’t so bad. Not when it’s by his Daddy.

Peter cleans Stiles’ hands next, making sure he gets every drop of sticky fruit juice, going between each finger meticulously. He cleans over his wrists too, down his forearms, and then finally dabs at a patch on the front of his T-shirt. Stiles didn’t even realise he’d done that, that he was being quite so messy. He never thought obliviousness could be so freeing.

They go back through to the living room and Stiles sits down on the rug in front of the two puzzles, looking at the pictures. One is of dinosaurs, the other various insects roaming around plants. Stiles chooses the dinosaurs. It has more pieces and he doesn’t want this to be over too soon.

He attacks the plastic wrap that seals the puzzles, trying to get some purchase with a fingernail to makes a hole, but he bites them too much and there’s barely anything there.

“Let me,” Peter says. It’s not a demand, it’s an offer, and Stiles hands it over easily. Peter opens it up in one graceful motion, placing the lid aside.

Peter immediately starts searching for all the edge pieces, going the logical route, laying them all out and trying to figure out where they fit together. Stiles grabs anything, placing colourful pieces in front of him until, bit by bit, they start to make sense. He feels like their two methods complement each other, and even if he’s slowing them down, does it really matter if they’re having fun?

When the puzzle is finally sat before them, a perfect match for the picture on the box, Stiles looks with pride at the thing they’ve created together.

They arrange to meet up again the following weekend. Stiles feels a sense of peace, knowing that it’s coming, that this is a real thing in his life, a thing he can count on. He’s only been to Peter’s place once, but he already feels so welcome in his life. There’s none of the trepidation that came from exploring things with those other would-be Daddies. He should have trusted his gut on both of them from the start. He definitely trusts it with Peter.

When Peter opens the door to him on Saturday morning, Stiles doesn’t hesitate in hugging him enthusiastically. Peter holds him return, warm and steady and reliable. It’s everything Stiles needs, that acceptance and affection. He allows himself to revel in it.

He finally pulls away, toeing off his sneakers because he knows the rules in Daddy’s house and he’s a good boy. Peter smiles proudly at him, reaching out a hand. Stiles takes it.

“I got you some presents, Mischief.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Presents?”

“Do you want to see?” Peter asks, a note of teasing in his voice because they both already know the answer to that.

“Yes!” Stiles says enthusiastically.

Peter leads him through to the living room. The coffee table is moved aside again, making space to play, but this time there’s more than just the toys on the rug. There’s bags from clothing stores.

“I thought you should have some comfortable things here,” Peter says. “In case you ever need some clean clothes, or if you ever want to get changed after you get here.”

The implication is clear to Stiles. He can come here and become Mischief, he doesn’t need to always present himself that way. He’s not entirely sure how he feels about that, it skirts a line that feels fuzzy to him, but his Little side is way too excited to care about that right now. He has clothes at Daddy’s house, special clothes that Daddy picked out for him. It just proves that he belongs here.

“Can I look?” Stiles asks.

“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Peter responds. “They’re for you.”

Stiles lets go of Peter’s hand and kneels on the rug, pulling things out of bags with no sense of savouring it. He just wants all of it in front of him right now. It’s all the kinds of things he likes to wear when he’s little, sweatpants and soft shirts and oversized sweaters he can snuggle into and feel small. There’s fuzzy socks and some pyjamas with patterns on them. Some of the shirts have cute pictures on them like real kids wear. Stiles thinks he might like those the best. He can’t justify having that in his own closet, but he can have it here.

In the final bag is a onesie. It’s light pink and soft and Stiles snuggles it to him. That’s when he notices the hood. And the ears.

“It’s a bunny!” he cries out in excitement.

“I thought it might suit you,” Peter says. “The colour would be adorable with your rosy cheeks. But we can change it if you’d prefer something else. It still has the tags on.”

“I love it!” Stiles enthuses, playing with one of the floppy ears.

He knows what Peter is asking though. He saw Stiles playing with Erica’s girly things, but it’s possible that was just out of necessity rather than choice, that his comfort with them was simply because he was desperate to have Little things and he’d take what he could get. Stiles doesn’t want things like gender roles in his head when he’s in this mindset though. He wants cute and comfy and lots of hugs. He wants to not have a care in the world. Getting upset about wearing pink sounds like a care to him.

“I got you something else as well,” Peter says, leaning against the back of the couch and nodding down to the cushions.

Stiles follows his gaze and see a stuffed animal. A fox. He makes an incoherent noise of joy and drops the onesie, grabbing for his fox. His fur is velvety and he has a beanie texture inside his belly. Perfect for snuggling and for fiddling with. His Daddy knows him so well. And that’s why he asked what Stiles’ favourite animal was. He wants to know him better. He wants everything to be perfect for him.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Stiles says, climbing up onto the couch, crashing into Peter with a kiss on the cheek, his arms thrown around Peter’s neck.

Peter laughs against him, a sound of such relief and joy. “You’re welcome, Mischief. You’re such a good boy.”

Stiles beams at the praise, still clinging to his Daddy. Peter manages to move him away enough to climb over the back of the couch, the two of them in an undignified heap, sinking into the cushions, but Stiles doesn’t care. Not when he has his Daddy.

They stay like that for a while, snuggled together, so intimate and trusting, but it’s safe to trust here. This is paternal. He’s in no danger of his bubble getting burst.

“I have some activities we could do today if you felt like it,” Peter says.

Stiles lifts his head up to look at him. “Like what?”

“I have some craft materials if you’re feeling creative,” Peter says. “Paint and glue and glitter. Or I have a recipe to make some playdough.”

“I want to paint,” Stiles says decisively. He doesn’t have much of a creative outlet, everything at college feels between the lines, and Stiles has always enjoyed colouring outside them.

“Okay,” Peter says, leveraging Stiles up further. “Let’s go get set up then.”

They go through to the kitchen and Peter places a wipe-clean tablecloth over the small table there. Stiles climbs up to kneel on one of the chairs, even though he can reach perfectly well without the need to. Peter takes out a kids’ paint palette and squirts some of each colour of the poster paints into the recesses. He presents Stiles with a selection of brushes with brightly coloured handles and a glass of water to rinse them in. Stiles grabs one, dipping it into the orange paint before Peter even places a piece of paper in front of him.

Stiles doesn’t hold the brush like he would a pen. Instead he grabs it in his fist and spreads the vibrant colour across the paper. He smiles to himself, dipping his brush straight into the green and doing it again.

“All of your colours are going to end up brown if you don’t clean your brush,” Peter says, sitting down across from him. It’s not a reprimand, more friendly advice given light heartedly and with no expectation that it be followed.

Stiles plays with the colours until his page is full and then he puts it aside and starts another, drawing shapes this time. He likes the way the colours blend on the paper, the way his lines are uneven as he presses down too hard with the brush. He doesn’t take any care about keeping the paint off the table, that’s what the protective cloth is for, and he doesn’t mind that his fingers get messy where he’s holding his paper steady. He likes the way it feels against his skin. You’re not supposed to get messy, grown-ups take care in being presentable, but Stiles has none of those worries, not when he’s here.

When he gets a fresh sheet of paper, he doesn’t pick the brush back up, instead dipping his fingers straight into the paint, giggling as it drips onto the page before he splats it down, droplets going all over, including a couple on his T-shirt. Stiles looks down at them. This shirt is old and it’s not like he can’t get changed, he has clothes here now. He has a bunny onesie he’s dying to try on.

He smears his messy fingers straight onto the front of his shirt and then plunges his fingertips into another colour.

“Maybe I should have wrapped something wipe-clean around you too,” Peter says, but his voice is so soft, so full of affection for his silly little boy. Stiles grins at him and wipes the blue down himself as well.

By the time he finishes his painting that’s more exploration than art, his clothes are nearly as covered as his paper. Somehow he feels more like himself than he has in a long time. No one should be made to keep the messiness inside them. It can’t be healthy.

Stiles grabs a fresh piece of paper, wiping his sticky fingers absently on his sweatpants while he decides what he wants to try next.

“Why don’t you paint me a picture I can keep?” Peter suggests. “I’d really like that.”

Stiles purses his lips together, thinking. That feels like a lot of pressure. Peter’s not asking for a masterpiece though, he’s just asking for something made with him in mind. Stiles can handle that.

“Will you paint me one?” Stiles asks. He likes it when they do things together.

Peter gives him an amused smile. “You want me to paint a picture?”

Stiles nods, looking at him with big eyes.

“Okay,” Peter relents, retrieving a piece of paper for himself. He picks up the narrowest brush, considering the messy palette before he dips it into what is still mostly green. Sort of.

Satisfied, Stiles pushes his most recent artwork aside, getting a fresh piece of paper. The smudged fingerprints he leaves on the edge are just part of the charm. He picks up the same messy brush as before, wondering what he should draw for his Daddy. He smiles to himself, dipping his brush a little too hard into what was once orange and starting to draw the outline.

By the time he finishes his picture, painted with wild abandon and a lot of love, Peter is still carefully working on his own piece. Stiles looks around the table and spots the glitter, his eyes lighting up. The picture he makes for Daddy should be extra special.

He lurches for the red, pulling off the lid and dumping it over his picture. It piles up like little mountains as he pours it over and Stiles laughs. He picks up the picture, the glitter sliding off onto the table and his lap and the floor, all except the bits that have stuck to the wet paint, making his picture sparkle. He moves it from side to side, watching it catch the light, before he turns it to Peter, holding it up proudly.

“Finished, Daddy.”

“A fox!” Peter says joyously.

“You can tell?” Stiles asks, turning his picture back towards himself to look at it. It is not an accurate rendering of a fox. Stiles ignores the little voice that tells him that matters.

“Of course I can tell,” Peter says. “Mischief, it’s lovely.”

“For you,” Stiles says, thrusting it across the table at him.

Peter takes it by the top corners, holding it up to get a closer look. “Thank you, I will treasure it.”

Stiles feels a little swell in his chest, wriggling in his seat. “What did you paint?”

Peter places Stiles’ picture carefully aside, looking down at his own before adding a few more brushstrokes. He holds it up to reveal a woodland scene. There’s depth to it, he put real effort into the work. The place looks so peaceful and cool and Stiles wants to be there.

“Wow.”

“It’s where I grew up,” Peter says. “Or my attempt to recreate it.”

Somehow that sentiment hits deep with Stiles. “It’s really good. I love it.”

Peter smiles, but it looks a little more guarded than usual. He puts his painting down and then looks over at Stiles, the fondness flooding back to him. “I think maybe we should get you cleaned up,” he says. “Good thing I got you all those clothes.”

Stiles averts his gaze in a show of innocence as though that wasn’t his intention all along.

“Come on,” Peter says, getting to his feet. They go through to the living room, the clothes still thrown around the rug. “What do you think you might want to wear?” Peter asks.

“Bunny,” Stiles says without hesitation. He can’t even pretend to play it cool. “Please,” he adds, giving Peter his sweetest look.

Peter gives a little laugh and nods, going to retrieve it. In the bathroom, Peter has Stiles sit on the edge of the tub again, cleaning up his hands for him with a warm, soapy cloth. Stiles just gazes at him, revelling in being taken care of, in being so much smaller when he’s perched here, Peter standing over him.

“Do you need any help to get changed?” Peter asks, rinsing out the washcloth.

Stiles considers it. He wants total submersion, but being undressed is a line he’s still a little unsure of, even though he’s certain Peter wouldn’t try anything he didn’t want. Besides, he kind of wants to be a big enough boy to do this on his own, or to at least try. He can already imagine the praise.

“I can do it.”

Peter nods, removing the tag from the onesie and placing it on the counter for him. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Stiles says, still loving the way those words sound.

Peter closes the door softly behind him and Stiles looks down at the state of himself. It’s kind of hilarious. Most of the paint is dried now though, so getting them off doesn’t make as much of a mess as it could. He drops the clothes onto the tiles, trying to avoid messing up the bathmat.

When he picks up the onesie, his mind switches over to another place entirely. There’s not a thought in his head except for the immediate want. It’s that impulsiveness that he was always told he was supposed to bury. He’s allowed to act on that now though. His id. He’s not expected to know better.

He slips into the onesie, zipping it at the front and pulling the hood up over his head. He turns to the mirror. He looks so soft, so little, so cared for. And silly. Mischievous even. It’s perfect. He pulls the sleeves down so that they cover his hands. It’s roomy enough that he can do that. Space to grow into. All that potential.

He steps out of the bathroom, finding Peter in the living room. Peter looks him over, giving him a pleased smile.

“You look precious.”

Stiles bounces on his feet, hugging himself, feeling the luxurious material hug him too. “I like being a bunny.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter asks, leaning over the couch to reach for something. “You better be careful though because foxes chase bunnies.”

He holds up the fox plushie towards Stiles who squeals in anticipation, already starting to run. Peter chases him around the room with the fox, never quite catching him, though Stiles is pretty sure he could if he wanted to. It’s more fun to let Stiles dodge him though, running around furniture and laughing out loud. When he can barely run anymore for the laughter, Peter grabs him and throws him onto the couch, making growling noises as he attacks him with the fox like he’s being mauled. It only makes Stiles laugh harder.

“Tickles!” he yells helplessly. “Tickles!”

Peter backs off, standing up and looking at the stuffed animal. “Bad fox. No eating Bunny. You two need to be friends.”

He drops the fox down onto Stiles’ chest for him to snuggle. Stiles catches his breath, but then he misses the roughhousing, the proximity.

“I’m going to put those clothes of yours in the washing machine,” Peter says. “The paint is all washable, it should come right out. Then I’ll make us some lunch. How does that sound?”

It sounds kind of boring to Stiles, but being a Daddy isn’t just playing and indulging. It’s taking care of all those mundane things so that Stiles doesn’t have to do them for himself. He pushes his fingers through the fox’s fur.

“Okay.”

Peter gives him a smile like he’s a good boy and Stiles glows a little bit. He listens to Peter’s footsteps across the wooden floor, into the bathroom, and then back towards the kitchen. He sighs, sinking into the couch, closing his eyes for a moment. Sometimes it’s nice to just stop. The lack of responsibility makes him feel like he can breathe in a way he maybe hasn’t in years.

Peter takes what feels like forever to make lunch though and Stiles gets restless. He plays with the fox, making it bounce on his chest, but that can only entertain him for so long. Daddy is better at playing the fox anyway.

Stiles rolls off the couch onto the rug that’s still littered with clothes where he dumped them earlier. He crosses the plush surface to reach his books, considering his options. He flicks through them, picking out one with pictures that he likes. He lies on his stomach, the hood of his bunny onesie pulled back into place and the fox snuggled under his arm as he opens up the first page.

He doesn’t read any of the words. Words are for big boys and girls, or for Daddies. Instead he looks at the pictures and he makes up his own story. He’s always had a good imagination.

He’s still engrossed when Peter comes back into the room. “Hey, little Bunny,” he says, kneeling down beside him and place a hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades. It’s such a comforting weight.

Stiles looks up at him. He likes being a bunny.

“Ready for lunch?” Peter asks.

Stiles nods eagerly, dropping the book to the wooden floor as he gets to his feet, following after Peter.

They sit at the table where they painted earlier, all cleaned up now. Stiles gets a big portion because he’s a growing boy, but his plate is hard plastic and it has a shark on it. His cutlery is regular sized but the handles are chunky plastic where Peter’s are metal so that Stiles can grip them better.

Stiles sits on his legs and shovels food up on his fork and talks with his mouth full. It’s nice to not play by the rules. Peter only reminds him once, but he doesn’t lecture or act disgusted. He talks to him, happy to join in with his hyperactive chatter, and Stiles feels like he’s home.

After lunch, they do a puzzle together on the rug, Stiles quieter now, more content. He likes puzzles for winding down. He knows he has to go soon so he savours every moment of them sat there putting the big picture together piece by piece.

When it’s time to leave, Peter hands him his clothes, fresh from the dryer, and Stiles reluctantly strips out of his bunny onesie. His clothes are clean like Peter promised and the warmth is like a hug. It’s not as good as the one he gets from his Daddy when he comes out of the bathroom though.

“I had a lot of fun with you today, Mischief,” Peter says, still holding him, his voice low and intimate. “I’m always here for you. I want you to know that.”

Stiles nods. He believes him.

Stiles carries that contentment through Sunday with him, studying and playing videogames and treating himself well. Like his Daddy would. As soon as Monday hits, it’s not so easy to keep hold of that feeling. He has a busy schedule during the week, lectures and tutorials and reading and assignments. It doesn’t take much to get swept away by it. He has so many things to keep track of, sometimes his brain just can’t keep up. Self-care is the first thing to fall by the wayside. It always has been. He’s much better at worrying about other people’s problems than his own.

He has a big test coming up on Wednesday and he thought he was prepared for it, he put in some hours on Sunday, but after the content of his Monday lecture he feels lost. There are way more complexities than he bargained for and if he fails this class, his scholarship could be in trouble. His dad can’t afford an unsubsidised education for him. It sits so heavy on his chest that sometimes he feels like he can’t breathe. He’ll have to go home. His dad will be so disappointed. He won’t be able to see Peter anymore.

Stiles tries to push the thoughts aside. He’s had enough panic attacks in his life to feel one coming but he’s not going to fold. Not right now. He doesn’t have time to fall apart. He puts in the hours and he studies the materials and he asks questions in lectures to put his doubts to rest.

The night before the test, he stays up until 3am studying, a clinging desperation to get it all in his brain. Even when he finally turns off the light, he doesn’t really sleep. He has theories and equations and images of failure running around his head.

He drinks two coffees the next morning before his test, fighting off the heaviness of his body and the sluggishness of his brain. As soon as he opens the paper and looks at the first few questions, everything in his mind settles. He knows this. He’s got this. It’s going to be okay.

Thankfully he has a free afternoon and so he declines the offers from classmates to go dissect the test over lunch. What’s done is done and he feels at peace with himself. He has no desire to dredge it all up and turn it into another panic attack.

He goes back to his dorm room, cooking himself something simple and nutritious before slipping into his sweatpants and a soft T-shirt. He looks down at himself and realises he’s wearing his Little clothes. Or maybe some part of him knew that all along.

He snuggles on his bed with his laptop and a pillow, watching a movie he loved when he was a kid and feeling all soft and vulnerable. His guard has slipped away. This isn’t where he wants to be though, alone in his dorm room with so many things at hand that could break the spell. He doesn’t want to be responsible for himself. His adrenaline has dropped and his exhaustion is catching up with him, the remnants of the coffee in his system making him jittery. Being vulnerable doesn’t feel so safe anymore. Not here. But he knows where it would.

He reaches for his phone, scrolling through his contacts and clicking on Peter. He bites his lip as it rings and wonders why there are tears in his eyes already.

“Hello,” Peter greets warmly. “It’s nice to hear from you.”

It’s generic, like Peter isn’t sure if he’s talking to Stiles or Mischief yet, but it still fills Stiles with yearning.

“Daddy, can I come over?” Stiles asks, trying not to let his voice crack. He’s okay. He’s going to be fine. He’s just tired, he needs his retreat.

“Of course, Mischief,” Peter responds. “I’d love to see you.”

“I mean, not now, you’re at work, but maybe when you get home?” Stiles says hopefully.

“You have excellent timing, sweetheart,” Peter says brightly. “I just so happen to be working from home today. It would make me very happy to have you over here now.”

Stiles’ eyes sting with unshed tears of relief. “Thank you, Daddy,” he says quietly.

“I’ll see you soon, Mischief,” Peter says.

Stiles’ body doesn’t want to move but he drags himself from his bed. His physical exhaustion is nothing compared to how raw he feels inside right now. He did his big boy things, now he just needs his Daddy. He’ll take care of everything.

Peter’s arms are already out as he opens the door, ready to accept Stiles into them. Stiles slumps against him, letting Peter take his weight as they stand there, wrapped up in each other. Stiles always feels so small in Peter’s arms. It’s perfect.

Peter strokes his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “Rough day, sweetheart?”

Stiles tips his head back to look up at Peter. “School is hard.”

“But you’re such a smart boy,” Peter says. “You make Daddy very proud. But you’ve been working really hard so I think you deserve some play time now.”

Stiles’ eyes drift away, the exhaustion catching up with him as he leans back into Peter. He considers all of the toys that Peter has bought for him, but he doesn’t think he has the energy for any of them right now. He just wants to be near his Daddy. He wants everything else to go away for a little while.

“Maybe we should do something quiet,” Peter suggests, reading his mood. “I could read to you, or we could watch some cartoons. Or maybe you just want to take a nap.”

Stiles shakes his head. He’s so tired, but he doesn’t want to waste his time with Peter sleeping. He could have done that in his dorm. He needs something else. He just can’t figure out what it is. He thinks about cuddles and soft blankets. He thinks about Daddy’s voice and being cosy and warm and safe. He remembers where he used to retreat to when he was a real kid and it all just got too much.

He looks up at Peter. “Can we build a blanket fort, Daddy?”

Peter smiles at him. “That sounds like a perfect idea, Mischief.”

They bring a couple of chairs through from the kitchen and Peter grabs a huge bedsheet, standing on one of the chairs to hook it high on the wall. Stiles gets down on the floor, draping it over the back of the couch and pulling the chairs towards him to support the other side, trying to find the perfect position to make it cosy without being suffocating. It’s a surprisingly satisfying task, moving from one side to the other, making sure that it covers the back wall so that everything inside is soft. No hard surfaces allowed. He needs his world to be gentle right now.

When he’s finally happy, he starts to drag the cushions off the couch and every chair in the living room. He piles them up inside while Peter leaves the room. Stiles watches him. He likes that Peter is letting him have creative control, but he kind of needs to need his Daddy right now too. When Peter is out of sight, Stiles feel himself start to clam up. He’s so happy and relieved when Peter comes back down the stairs, carrying more cushions and a thick blanket. Stiles grins at him, making grabbyhands. Peter doesn’t deny him. He never has.

They lay the blanket over the sheet, making it a little darker inside, a little warmer, a little more protected from everything Stiles needs a break from right now. As Stiles pulls the cushions inside, Peter gets down on the floor to join him, making sure their fort is as decadent as can be. They deserve it.

Stiles gives a little giggle as it’s finally done, squashing the nearest cushion to him. The moment is almost perfect. Almost.

“Daddy? Can I put my bunny onesie on?”

“I think that sounds like a fantastic idea,” Peter says.

After Peter hands him his onesie, Stiles goes through to the bathroom to get changed. He dumps his clothes on the floor with little care, stepping into the pink fabric. He zips it up, putting up the hood before looking at himself in the mirror. Now it’s perfect. He couldn’t ask for any more.

When he steps out of the bathroom, he realises that perfection can get better. There’s a little lantern by the entrance to their fort, a candle flickering inside. Strung around the sheet and blanket and running around the inside of the fort are tiny little string lights that look like fireflies or stars or like his Daddy is capable of magic. In that moment, Stiles believes it.

“Wow.”

“You like?” Peter asks, putting the finishing touches to the lights.

“Daddy, I love it!” Stiles exclaims.

He runs at Peter and hugs him perhaps a little too hard, his momentum nearly sending them both flying through the fort and ruining all of their hard work. His Daddy is strong though.

As quickly as Stiles was tackling him, he drops down and crawls into the fort. He’s not sure he’s ever felt this protected and worthy. It’s everything he wanted, all of those pieces that have gone unfulfilled for so long, and as he looks up at Peter, at the pride and affection on his face, he knows it goes both ways. They’re helping each other. Stiles isn’t a burden if he puts his weight on Peter for a while.

Peter crouches down to join him but Stiles shakes his head. “Fort dress code. Pyjamas only.”

Peter smiles, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Is that right?”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles says very seriously.

“Is there a password too?” Peter asks.

Stiles thinks about it, chewing on his lip. “Bunny.”

“Seeing as you’re my little Bunny, I’m sure I can remember that one,” Peter says, standing up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”

Stiles watches Peter going up the stairs and realises that he’s just demanded that a very serious, important, grown-up man who should be working right now, put on pyjamas and climb into a blanket fort with him. But Peter didn’t even miss a beat. Mutually beneficial. Everyone needs an excuse to embrace the more spontaneous, pleasure seeking side of life sometimes. Stiles, he realises, is Peter’s.

Stiles crawls out of the fort, going over to grab his books that were left out on the coffee table beside his puzzles. He takes them back to the fort and lays them out in front of him, deciding which one he’s going to get Daddy to read to him. It’s a big decision. He takes it seriously. At the end of the day, it’s inconsequential though, and that fact is so freeing.

He’s still trying to decide when Peter comes back down the stairs. He’s wearing a slouchy grey T-shirt and some plain black pants. Predictably, boringly grown-up. Stiles takes comfort in that fact. He stares at Peter with stars in his eyes. He’s the luckiest little boy ever.

Peter leans down to the entrance of the fort. “Bunny,” he says in a conspiratorial voice.

Stiles giggles, moving back to make room for him. “You may enter.”

Peter does so, picking up the books on the way in. “And does my little Bunny want a story?”

Stiles nods, wriggling impatiently for Peter to come and join him. Peter sits himself against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, bare feet poking free of the entrance. Stiles curls up next to him, making himself as small as he feels, nestled safely under Peter’s arm within their own little world.

“Which book?” Peter asks.

Stiles just shrugs so Peter doesn’t ask again. He just picks one, knowing that the story itself doesn’t matter. He starts to read in that dreamy voice and Stiles’ eyes are already feeling bleary. He stares up at the little lights around them, watching them blur as his eyes almost close. He opens them, looks at the clear points of light, and then he lets them blur again until everything is warmth and blackness and Daddy’s perfect voice, and then nothing. He’s always been able to sleep anywhere, but crashing is different from being given permission, and Stiles can’t quite tell if it’s Peter’s or his own that feels the best.

They still keep their playdate that weekend, Stiles slipping so effortlessly into his Mischief headspace. He’s never felt so safe and loved and protected. He’s not sure it even counts as vulnerability when he truly doesn’t believe a thing in the world could hurt him when he’s with his Daddy.

They hug in the doorway as they always do before Stiles toes off his sneakers, loving the way that it makes him just a fraction smaller, as though it’s the last piece of the puzzle slotting into place.

“I wanted to show you something,” Peter says.

Stiles’ eyes light up. Daddy has the best surprises.

Peter takes him by the hand and leads him towards the stairs. Stiles has never been upstairs in Daddy’s house before. He feels privileged to be allowed in his grown-up space but not apprehensive. He doesn’t think that Peter would blur the lines. For a brief moment, Stiles wonders if that would be the worst thing in the world, but he quickly dismisses it. That’s not what he wants from a Daddy, he’s always been certain of that fact. What he and Peter share is perfect.

Peter leads him to a bedroom, opening up the door. Stiles is confused. It’s not Peter’s bedroom, there’s only a twin bed and no personal touches. Peter goes further into the room though and leans down to a socket, flicking the switch. Tiny lights flicker on around the headboard making the room look a million times more cosy.

“They’re from our fort!” Stiles realises out loud.

“They are,” Peter agrees, moving to pat the blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed. “I thought I should keep this handy in case you ever felt like making another one.” He looks up at Stiles, more serious. “I thought maybe this could be your room though. If you ever wanted to spend the night, or if you need a naptime. I want you to have your own space here. I put your clothes in the drawers already.”

Stiles doesn’t even know what to say. He’s overwhelmed. And his own space, that’s serious. That’s like a drawer in my dresser in a normal relationship. A little piece carved out just for him. He blinks back tears. This isn’t them exploring and testing the waters. This is commitment.

“I thought maybe we could go shopping together,” Peter says. “You could pick out a few things to make it your own.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asks.

“Whatever my Mischief wants,” Peter says.

“Your little Bunny?” Stiles asks tentatively. He feels soft when he’s here, not the restless troublemaker he’s been the rest of his life.

“My little Bunny,” Peter agrees, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Can I take you shopping and spoil you?”

Stiles grins at him. “Yes please, Daddy.”

They go to a big-box store, Peter pushing the cart while Stiles wanders the aisles with his Little filter on. They’re not obvious, just two people browsing, one more excitable than the other. That’s true of most situations in Stiles’ life. Peter lets him buy whatever he wants and Stiles takes the opportunity to really explore who he is and all of the things he wants to represent him.

He picks out a nightlight and a superhero bedspread and some cute prints with colourful, cartooned versions of the planets because what could make him feel smaller than the universe? He grabs a rainbow cushion and a heart shaped cushion and some colourful storage boxes to keep his toys in. He thinks that justifies buying a few new toys as well, so he gets some fun magnetic building blocks and a game where you have to hook monkeys onto a tree. He can’t wait to play that one with Daddy. Before they leave he also picks out a Pokémon T-shirt because it’s too cute to leave behind and Peter agrees.

Stiles can barely keep still on the ride back to Peter’s house, envisioning all of his things in a little space just for him. It makes him feel like the most special boy in the world. They set the room up straight away, but it’s mostly Peter setting it up and Stiles getting in the way. Peter has endless patience with him though. Stiles is maybe deliberately testing it when he climbs onto the bed while Peter is still trying to make it. Peter doesn’t let him down. He gives him an amused but firm look that Stiles understands instantly. He’s pushing his luck. Boundaries are important to Stiles, but so is the security of knowing that his Daddy will never belittle him or use his authority against him. He’s not entitled, but Stiles can’t be either. They’re on the same page on that.

Stiles gets down onto the floor, trying unsuccessfully to get into the packaging of his new nightlight. It’s a little sleeping cloud, it’s expression peaceful and serene. He abandons his attempts when Peter finishes with the bed, climbing back up and playing with his new cushions as Peter works on putting the prints up on the walls. He’s meticulous and precise and Stiles only gets a little bit bored. As Peter puts the last print up, a cartoon Saturn that looks like it’s hula hooping, Stiles slips down off the bed, going over to his storage boxes and pulling out the monkey game. He holds it up to Peter as soon as he turns around.

“Can we play, Daddy?”

“You’ve been very patient,” Peter says. “And you were so good at the store.” He takes the box from Stiles, looking it over. “This one looks fun.”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles agrees, wriggling on his butt as he looks up at Peter. “Can we play it, Daddy?”

“We can play,” Peter agrees, sitting down opposite him.

“I want the blue monkeys,” Stiles says before Peter even has the box open.

“Anything for my little Bunny,” Peter says.

Stiles grins at him, grasping for his monkeys as soon as the lid is off the box.

When it’s time for Stiles to leave, his mind is already trying to get back on its adult track, thinking about the assignment he needs to finish up, the responsibilities that he shelves when he comes through this door. He doesn’t want them back yet. They’re way too heavy when he’s like this. The most vulnerable point is when he has to let his Little self start to slip away.

“Can I stay over next time, Daddy?” he asks.

“I would really love that, Bunny,” Peter says, genuine joy in his eyes. “That space is for you whenever you want it or need it. And I would adore being able to tuck you into bed and knowing that you’re safe.”

Stiles shifts on his feet as he squirms a little closer to Peter. Seeing things from Peter’s point of view reassures him that he’s not taking advantage, he’s not the only one gaining here. It’s win-win from every angle he can see.

He puts his arms around Peter, snuggling in close, letting out a sigh as Peter holds him tight. He wants to take this feeling with him, but he knows it would inhibit his day to day life. There has to be a balance. Stiles doesn’t think he’s 100% there yet but he wouldn’t trade any of what Peter gives him for the world.

They arrange their next playdate for Friday evening, sleepover included. Stiles still needs to dedicate some weekend time to studying, but his big assignment is out of the way and being Little is just as important to him as being Stiles now. He doesn’t want to compromise on either of those things.

When his finishes his last lecture of the day, he walks back to his dorm, passing by his jeep as he approaches the building. He just wants to be with his Daddy. He has everything he needs there, so many cute outfits to choose from, does he really need to drag himself up those stairs to get changed? He can do it there.

He turns back around, unlocking his jeep and climbing inside, sending Peter a text to tell him he’s on his way.

He falls into Peter’s arms as always when the door opens, letting himself enjoy it for a moment. He loves to be indulged. When he pulls back though, he feels uncertain.

“I need to change out of my big boy clothes,” he says.

The line is blurred. Stiles wouldn’t refer to himself as a big boy, but Bunny wouldn’t have any need to be dressed like this. He feels like he’s caught somewhere in the middle, straddling two worlds.

“Take your time,” Peter agrees. “I’ll be waiting down here for you when you’re ready.”

Stiles goes up the stairs, into the space that Peter has carved out just for him. He opens up the drawers, looking through the outfits that Peter has bought for him. He picks out some grey sweatpants with cuffed ankles and little triangles all over them. The inside is fluffy and ridiculously soft against his legs. He pairs it with a navy T-shirt with a dinosaur on it and thinks that Erica would probably like this one. They should have another playdate. He’ll ask Daddy.

As he goes down the stairs, holding the banister and taking it one step at a time, he feels settled into his Little persona and excited to be able to spend the whole night here with Daddy. Peter is sitting on the couch waiting for him, Stiles’ plushie fox beside him.

“Daddy!” Stiles says excitedly, leaping onto the couch beside him.

“Hey, Bunny,” Peter says, hugging him tight. “Missed you.”

Stiles giggles, reaching for his fox and giving it a squeeze.

“Does he have a name?” Peter asks.

“I don’t know,” Stiles responds, looking its adorable little face.

“You should name him,” Peter says. “He needs a name.”

Stiles purses his lips together, thinking very hard. “Red.”

“Red it is,” Peter agrees. “Though in that case, we should probably call you Pink,” he adds, leaning in to kiss his rosy cheek.

Stiles giggles and squirms before sitting up, stroking the fox in his lap. “Can we play the monkey game?”

“Sure,” Peter says. “Why don’t you go get it?”

Stiles pulls a face. He just came down the stairs, he doesn’t want to go back up again. He has more energy now though, his excitement at spending time with Daddy like a sugar rush to his system. He knows he’ll crash soon, the busy week catching up with him, but he might as well make the most of it while it lasts.

He runs up, using his hands and feet to make himself go faster, pivoting around the corner at speed and going into his room. He pulls the lid off the storage box and discards it, rooting around inside for the game, undoing Peter’s careful organisation. He goes back downstairs with it, holding it in one hand while he holds onto the banister with the other, bumping down one step at a time until he can run across the hall to Daddy.

Peter has moved the coffee table aside and is sat on the rug, waiting for him. Stiles plops himself down opposite him and pulls the lid off the box, tipping the contents out. Peter goes about putting the tree together and Stiles starts sorting the monkeys by colour.

“I thought you might want to watch a movie later,” Peter suggests. “After dinner. I could make popcorn.”

“Can I pick the movie?” Stiles asks excitedly.

“I get final say,” Peter tells him. “But you get free reign of the options.”

“My pick then,” Stiles says quietly to himself, going back to his monkeys.

“If you’re a good boy,” Peter says. “Treats are only for good boys.”

There’s a note of warning in his voice but it’s not harsh. He’s making his expectations known because he wants the best for Stiles and that means not letting him turn into a brat. Stiles might want to explore those boundaries, but he wants the same thing as Peter does. He wants to make the most of this opportunity and not sabotage himself.

“I’m the best boy,” he says with resolve.

“You’re perfect for me,” Peter agrees.

Stiles can’t tell if he means perfectly behaved or a perfect match, but he’ll take them both.

The evening feels so domestic and more intimate than usual because there’s no expiry date, no time limit, no looming moment where Stiles will have to get himself back out of this headspace, the transition always a come down no matter how many times he does it. But tonight he doesn’t have to stop being Little. He doesn’t have to stop being Bunny. He can embrace it fully and lose himself in the process, surrendering to everything he wants and needs from this.

They eat dinner at the kitchen table and then Peter sets Stiles up with the remote and a kids Netflix account and lets him browse while he goes to make the popcorn. Stiles can hear it popping in the background, a sound that’s somehow nostalgic though he doesn’t think he has a memory to go with it. He scrolls through movies that he loved as a kid, and maybe also when he wasn’t a kid, but he doesn’t want any associations. He wants to find Bunny’s favourite movie, so he looks through the new releases section, picking out something that he’s never even heard of. It looks fun though.

He shows it to Peter when he comes in with a big bowl of popcorn, and Peter agrees with his first choice. Stiles kind of knew that he would. He doesn’t want to take that for granted though. He wants to appreciate it.

They settle on the couch together, Stiles managing to snuggle both Peter and his fox while somehow still shovelling popcorn into his mouth nonstop. He laughs joyously at all the jokes and gasps loudly at the twist. Peter chuckles a few times too, a deep rumbling through his chest against Stiles’ cheek, so he guesses he’s not the only one who enjoys it.

As the credits roll, Stiles stares at the scrolling names, realising how tired his eyes are. It’s not that late, but he’s relaxed and his guard is down and his compounded exhaustion is catching up with him. He yawns, snuggling closer to Peter who brushes back his hair.

“I think it might be somebody’s bedtime.”

Stiles just nods. He doesn’t fight it.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Peter says, shutting off the TV.

He moves, easing Stiles back so that he can sit up. Stiles makes a noise of protest but then Peter is leaning down to him, scooping him up in his arms. Stiles feels like he’s flying. His Daddy is the best. He’s carried up the stairs and placed gently on his bed, Peter turning on the string lights around him and then his nightlight.

“You get ready for bed,” Peter says. “I’ll tidy up downstairs and get you a glass of water.”

“Will you read to me?” Stiles asks, reaching out for him.

Peter gives him a reassuring smile. “I’d never send my little Bunny to sleep without a bedtime story.”

He closes the door after himself and Stiles gets up, going over to the dresser. He looks through the sleepwear, finding a matching T-shirt and pants set with little sheep all over them. He discards his clothes and pulls on the pyjamas, unable to stop smiling as he looks down at himself. He looks and feels so, so Little.

He climbs into bed, pulling the covers back messily. Daddy will tuck him in. He waits impatiently, clutching his fox, until he finally hears Peter’s footsteps on the stairs.

“I’m ready,” Stiles calls out.

Peter comes into the room, placing a glass of water down by the bedside. He looks around the room. “You’re a messy little Bunny, aren’t you?” he comments, picking up his clothes and folding them before tidying up his box of games.

“Story?” Stiles asks hopefully.

Peter nods, going over to the dresser where some of his books are sat. “Any requests?”

“Anything,” Stiles says, snuggling down against his pillow.

Peter picks one up and comes over to the bed. He leans down, pulling the covers up neatly around Stiles, tucking them securely into place. Stiles feels like he’s being hugged. Peter sits himself down on the edge of the bed and opens up the book.

Stiles barely hears any of the words, his eyes already closing. It’s soothing to have Peter there though, the cadence of his voice like a lullaby. He doesn’t think he’s ever been as content as he is in that moment.

He’s vaguely aware of movement as Peter shifts, the room going darker as Peter leans over to turn off the string lights. Stiles cracks his eyes open though and his nightlight is still on. He smiles, the soft glow seeming to give him a deep warmth.

“Sweet dreams, Bunny,” Peter whispers before he kisses him on the forehead, the bed moving again as he stands, but Stiles is already asleep before he’s even crossed the room.

When he wakes up in the morning, Stiles feels so cosy and well-rested. He can already smell something delicious cooking and as much he likes lazy mornings and lie ins, he clambers his way out of his perfectly tucked in bed, opening up the door and inhaling deeply through his nose. It smells so good.

He’s a little cold now he’s left the warmth of his bed though and he considers the sweaters that Peter has bought him, but then he has a better idea. He pulls out the bunny onesie, slipping it on with a grin on his face, pulling up the hood and making his way downstairs.

Peter is stood at the stove making pancakes. He turns when he hears Stiles come in, smiling warmly at him.

“Well good morning, Bunny,” he says. “Did you sleep well?”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles says.

“Do you want a pancake?” Peter offers.

“Yes please, Daddy,” Stiles says eagerly.

“I’ve poured you some juice,” Peter says, nodding towards the table. “You sit down while I finish here, then we can eat.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, practically skipping over to the table. He picks up the plastic tumbler of fresh orange juice with both hands, taking a sip.

Peter brings over pancakes and whipped cream and cut up fruit. Stiles plays with his, making a silly face. Peter looks on fondly as his primly cuts his own into little squares with his knife and fork.

After breakfast they do a puzzle together on the rug, but Stiles is aware that their time is almost over. It always has to come to an end. He has reading to do and he needs to buy groceries. He’s hidden from his life for long enough.

He goes upstairs and puts his own clothes back on, his big boy clothes, his Stiles clothes. It feels weird standing in this room wearing them. He’s tempted to think these decorations look silly, but he likes them. He still likes them. Appreciating something is not the same as inhabiting it though.

He goes downstairs and Peter is sat on his couch, still wearing his soft pyjamas. He’s reading the newspaper and he looks so fatherly, but that T-shirt clings to him in a way that Stiles didn’t notice before and his messy hair makes him look rugged and…

It feels too intimate for him to see Peter like this, as though they don’t know each other well enough, which is ridiculous. He’d trust Peter with anything. Bunny would, at least. But Stiles made the decision to give up control, and he decided to give it to this man. That has to count for something.

“Hey,” Peter says, looking up at him.

“Oh, hey,” Stiles responds, feeling like he’s been caught in the act.

“Do you have everything?” Peter asks, getting to his feet and placing the newspaper aside.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Well, except my sneakers.”

“By the door,” Peter says.

“I know,” Stiles responds.

There’s an awkward silence. Why is this so weird?

“So, yeah,” Stiles says vaguely, gesturing towards the door.

Peter nods, walking him out to the hallway, waiting for him to put on his shoes.

“Let me know that you get home safely,” Peter says.

Stiles can’t quite tell if he’s saying it as Daddy or Peter, but he finds himself charmed either way. “Will do.”

They don’t hug. Not as Stiles and Peter. Hugging would feel wrong. Not hugging feels wrong too though.

Stiles texts Peter as soon as he gets back to his dorm, his headspace hovering in some no-man’s-land that he can’t identify. Maybe it’s the amount of time that he was Little for, but it takes him longer than usual to feel like himself again, to feel capable and independent and like he has everything under control. He feels weak, but not in a way that’s dangerous. He’s still glad when the feeling finally fades away though.

He tries to go about his week, but an image gets stuck in his head. Peter on his couch, pyjamas on, guard down. Stiles doesn’t give much thought to Peter if he’s honest. Daddy, yes, but not Peter. There’s always been a separation in Stiles’ mind. Bunny and Daddy. Stiles and Peter. But who are Stiles and Peter? _What_ are Stiles and Peter? They don’t feel like such separate entities anymore.

Stiles doesn’t want to blur that line. He wants to keep his Little relationship separate from the relationship between two consenting adults. They haven’t had a relationship so far, Stiles and Peter have barely spoken to each other, certainly not since they set the ground rules. But Stiles _likes_ Peter. He sees that now. Peter is his type in an objective kind of way. He’s hot and he’s charming and he exudes sex without even trying. Stiles hasn’t seen it because he hasn’t wanted to. Stiles wasn’t looking for a hook-up, a boyfriend. He was looking for a Daddy. And he found one. But some little part of him wonders if he found something else as well.

The thoughts tumble around in his brain for the next 24 hours, his anxiety building. He could break everything. He could lose his Daddy. But he wants to know Peter. He wants Peter to know Stiles. Peter is the one who gave him this wonderful thing. He’s just as important to Stiles as his Daddy is. Stiles has a duality in him, one that he’s embraced, but is there really any reason why both halves can’t be satisfied by the same person?

He finally gets up the guts to call Peter the following night. This is eating away at him and he and Peter have made such a commitment to each other, Peter has welcomed him into his life and his home and given him a little piece of both. Stiles wants to repay him in kind, even if there’s no guarantee it’s in a way he would want. Stiles is known for being impulsive in ways that constantly bite him in this ass, but this is a calculated risk. The reward feels like it would be worth it.

“Hi,” Peter greets softly when Stiles finally stops procrastinating and calls him.

“Hey Peter, it’s Stiles,” he says quickly, wanting to set the tone right away.

“Stiles,” Peter says in a warm tone. “How are you?”

“Yeah, good,” Stiles says. “Between the crushing workload and the anxiety.”

“If I’m taking up too much of your time…”

“No,” Stiles cuts in. “No, that’s not… It’s kind of the opposite.”

“Okay,” Peter says, waiting.

“I was actually going to ask if you wanted to get a coffee some time?” Stiles asks, hating the uncertainty in his voice. He has his shit together. He’s killing this adult thing more than anyone else around him, even with his flaws. He’ll submit to Daddy but not to Peter. That’s where the line is and he won’t blur it, but maybe together they could step back and forth.

“Coffee sounds good,” Peter agrees.

Stiles nods, reeling himself in. “There’s this place on campus where I hang out. If you didn’t mind coming to where I am.”

“I’m willing to meet you wherever you want to be,” Peter says smoothly, not at all like Daddy.

Stiles takes a moment to process that, and then his lips quirk up in a smile. “Thank you, Peter.”

“You’re welcome, Stiles.”

Stiles goes to the coffeeshop after his final lecture of the day. It’s a familiar setting to him, somewhere he feels at home. He has ownership of this space, he knows who he is here. He sets himself up with a coffee and his college work, knowing not to expect Peter for at least an hour. He’s coming by after work. Until then, Stiles’ attention is going to be focused firmly on his textbooks.

When Peter arrives, Stiles is in the middle of a particularly tricky math problem and he barely looks up. “Hey, sorry, can you give me a minute, I just want to finish this equation.”

“Sure,” Peter says easily. “I’ll grab myself a drink. Do you want a refill?”

“I’m good thanks,” Stiles says. “If I have another one, I won’t sleep.”

Peter nods, getting to his feet and crossing to the counter. Stiles dives back into his problem, working through it systematically until he comes to something that makes sense. As Peter sits back down opposite him, Stiles closes his book, moving it aside.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Peter says, taking a sip of his drink.

“I didn’t invite you here to show you how good I am at math,” Stiles says.

Peter smiles, a sparkle in his eye that Stiles hasn’t seen before. “So why did you invite me here, Stiles?” he asks. “I’ve been intrigued by that question all day.”

“Because I like it here,” Stiles says. “I like to study here. Or meet up with friends. It feels like a part of me. I feel like myself here. Stiles. In this place I’m only ever Stiles. And that doesn’t mean that’s all I am but… I wanted you to meet Stiles. Properly. Not defensive, guard up, scared by your sexuality Stiles. And not negotiating how to be Little Stiles. The real Stiles. I want you to know him. And I want to know Peter. And maybe that doesn’t interest you, I don’t know, and I am so cool with just being Bunny, I _love_ being Bunny, I don’t want to lose Bunny. But that’s not all I am. And I wanted to share that with you. Because I feel like maybe Peter and Stiles would get along. In a really different way. A really very different way.”

Stiles sags, feeling like he hasn’t taken a breath in his whole tirade. He’s never been articulate, especially when there was so much at stake, but he has a feeling that, with someone like Peter, passion counts for a lot. Hopefully he’s perceptive enough to decipher the meaning within it.

Peter smiles at him, looking charmed and impressed and maybe just a little bit doting, but not in the way that Daddy is. Nothing like in the way that Daddy is. Stiles feels it heat him in a way he hasn’t really experienced since he came to college. There are so many parts of himself to get in order. It’s all about balance. The look on Peter’s face makes him feel like it might be possible.

Peter reaches out his hand and Stiles accepts it, Peter turning the back of Stiles’ hand upwards, leaning forward to place a kiss against it, his eyes never leaving Stiles’. It’s so chivalrous and so sexual all at once.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Stiles.”

Stiles blushes and thinks how ridiculously corny this is but, in that exact same moment, he falls hard.


End file.
